


Darkest Before the Dawn

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Music, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Protective Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Faith is a real power - not just an expression of belief." - Boyd Packer</p><p>When faced with the new crisis of dealing with a Lady of Letters, Castiel and Dean discover that something very different has happened between them - with potentially dangerous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkest Before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosie_berber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/gifts).



> Lovingly beta'd by rosie_berber who is my muse and amazing and when you're done reading this, go immediately and read everything she's written. You're welcome.
> 
> This fanfic ran hot and cold for me - I love some parts, I hate others. Deciding that I should avoid being a perfectionist I'm putting it out there anyway, and I hope you enjoy it. I wanted to play with the idea that a deep love between Castiel and Dean could quite literally change the world - and here we are.

_And I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t._  
_So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my road._  
_And I’m ready to suffer, and I’m ready to hope._  
_It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat._

_Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me_

 

It didn't take long for Castiel to realize where he was - smack in the middle of a redwood forest. Exquisitely towering trees covered him in a chilled shadow, and his ears rang with striking silence.

“Eldorado National Forest, Northern California.” He murmured to no one - angry and grateful that he had enough angel sense left to get to a location fast enough. But not enough angel mojo to get back. What the hell had banished him?

He tried to remember his last moments with Sam - trampling down the steps to the main room of the bunker, trying to elicit an emotion from him other than cool detachment. Cas would have settled for a physical fight if that would have encouraged Sam to start to grieve. But the man was so strong and stubborn, a martyr to his last breath. He wasn’t going to break down then, maybe not for days, or months.

Just like Dean.

...and maybe just a bit like Cas.

They really were a fucked up family.

The grief. Like a nagging smoke threatening to engulf him, leering just out of sight. It pinched at his peripherals, wafting under his nose, reminding him that if he stops, even for one moment, it will consume him. He ran from it as much as out of the forest, picking a direction that felt right and kept moving. The sun was higher in the sky than he last saw in Kansas but nevertheless falling, and there was no means, heavenly or otherwise, to get back to Sam other than his feet to the ground.

He moved like a soldier from muscle memory and faster than was sustainable to his weakened form. It wasn’t long before his lungs burned, the muscles in his legs ached, and still, he pushed. He ran. For hours. In a single direction. Praying to nothing because he knew there wasn’t anyone listening to reach some sign of civilization.The air in his nose grew colder. Wouldn’t be long before he’d be running against the sunset.

A root caught his foot and for a cruel moment it felt like he had his wings back, as he flew forward and then a hard stop, scraping his face and hands on the forest floor. Pain shot through his vessel and he cried out against the moss, mostly in frustration. He took a ragged breath - then another. Trying to pull himself together to sit back up, to keep running. But in that moment he felt more human, more fragile than he could remember feeling in his long life.

He tasted the tears before he felt them as he breathed heavily, rolling over to face the sky. He’d been so strong before - strong for Dean in his last moments, strong for Chuck as he sat dying, strong for Sam as he contemplated a very real existence without his brother. His strength faded within him then and was replaced by raw, acute grief, balled in the pit of his stomach.

Why didn’t he just go with him? It would have been so simple to overrule Dean, or convince Chuck he was needed. Just as backup, he would have said. It couldn’t hurt, and what if she tried to hurt him before Dean could complete his mission? Only his father might have sensed what he truly was saying...

_... please let me go because if I can’t live to save Dean, I want to die by his side. I want to take this from him, actually. All of the souls, all of the pain - let me absorb it all. I’ll kill Amara. I’ll save the world. He’s done enough already. Give him the life he deserves. An ornery woman, an endless supply of beer, his brother at his side, the Impala roaring down another dusty highway. Give him that until he keels over in old age, wrinkles in his laugh lines, left arm extra freckled from sticking outside of a rolled down window too many orange afternoons..._

He cried in silence at the senseless loss of his friend, his brother. But who was he kidding, really? Dean was more to him than either of those words. He cried for his companion. The only person in a thousand years that had shown him how to live. The one soul he could turn to, could trust and who accepted him, always and completely for himself. Dean never asked Cas to be anything but exactly who he is.

He blinked the tears away, mouth agape and gasping, and stared at the patch of sky between the canopies. It was beautiful, in a cruel way - a tiny island of blue in a sea of green leaves. For so many years in moments of utter despair he used to pray, even knowing his father was far away or lost, for strength and guidance and it somehow helped. There was no one to pray to now and that thought sobered him. Left him with a futility that numbed him enough to start again. Slowly he calmed his breaths, moment by moment. Remembered his mission: save Sam. Keep Sam safe. Make sure Sam’s ok. That’s what Dean asked of him.

And that’s what he’ll do.

* * *

 

Once he reached a road he got a signal - he never thought he’d been so damn happy to see three little bars on a screen before. Not surprisingly his calls to Sam went unanswered. Undaunted, he closed his eyes, taking a resonated deep breath, and then started walking along the road, step by step, his thumb extended.

He’d finally felt like he was at full seraph power again after Lucifer was banished out of his vessel - but now he was back to just a fraction of his normal strength. Whatever that woman hit him with, she obviously intended to do some permanent damage, and probably would have if he’d not been as juiced as he was. As it stood, hitchhiking to get back to Sam as soon as possible seemed to be his only option.

It didn’t take long before a good soul picked him up - an older gentlemen, introducing himself as Jeff, in a beat up Ford Ranger.

“On my way to Reno, you goin’ that way?” he called through a rolled down window. He looked grumpy and callused, like he’d worked too hard every day of his life, but his eyes were kind.

“I’m just trying to get east of here, so yes,” Cas answered gruffly with a nod, and let himself into the vehicle as it came to a stop.

Sitting felt blissful, as he hadn’t properly registered how badly his feet were aching. He suspected he had run or walked around twenty miles in the last four or five hours. Closing his eyes for a moment he leaned his head back against the seat.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The man smiled and kept driving. They drove in silence and it didn't help calm the way his mind was racing, still trying to think of the fastest way to get to Sam. He thought he may have to engage this man in conversation before too long, if only to keep himself from crying again. Of course, he’s terrible at conversing with others so that wasn’t going to go very well either.

They both jumped as his phone rang, Jeff looking over at him in annoyance. “I’m expecting a call - from my brother.” Cas mumbled, searching his coat and pulling out his phone. His heart seized at the sight and he froze his fingers, staring at it in wonder. The text read “Dean”. He blinked and it rang again, with the same caller ID. Not crazy, then. A cruel trick perhaps?

“Aren't ya gonna answer it then?” Jeff grumbled.

His thumb pressed a button and he held the phone close to his face, just listening. Waiting.

“Cas?” Dean called after a beat, low and rough.

That was all it took - hearing his nickname in that tone - for whatever walls he had spent the afternoon building to keep himself upright and moving to come tumbling down in a heap. _Oh, thank God_. His voice wavered at his reply.

“Dean? Is that you?”

He heard him sigh, and then, with a smile to his voice. “Yeah Cas, it’s me. I didn’t explode today.”

He couldn’t help sucking in his lips and biting hard, closing his eyes with emotion. _He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive._

But then Sam….

“Dean, I’m glad you’re not dead-” he started gravely, hating the news he needed to give to him, shattering this moment.

“Gee, thanks Cas. Don’t strain yourself.”

“-But your brother. I was banished, and I saw a woman with Sam - are you with him?”

“Yeah he’s fine.” Dean cleared his throat a bit. “Woman of letters, from across the pond. He was too slow and is crying in the corner about some flesh wound.” There was a scuffle on the phone and he heard Sam’s voice yell incredulously, “I was shot, Dean!”, then the older brother’s chuckle. “Anyway, you know Sammy - kid’s pretty damn indestructible.”

“That is a relief.” Castiel breathed, shifting in his seat. “Where is she now?”

“Locked up nice and tight in the dungeon. She’s pretty scratchy about it but I figure hey, we just saved the world. Give us a day or so to get our sea legs, then we’ll move onto the next crisis.”

Cas smiled. “And Amara?”

A sigh - he sounded tired. “Alive - but it’s over. Chuck showed up all the sudden and well, it ended up being the strangest family reunion I’ve ever been a part of. Which is saying something.” He laughed a bit at his own joke and damn, that sound was amazing. There was nothing in the world Castiel enjoyed so much as hearing a lightness to Dean’s voice. It was so completely rare in their line of work that when it happened, he wanted to bottle it.

“Cas?”

“Sorry - what did you say?”

“I said where the hell are you? Sam said you were banished pretty quick? You ok?”

Cas smiled at his concern. “Yes Dean, I’m ok. I ended up in the middle of a redwood forest in northern California. Unfortunately I do not seem to be able to uh, get back home the standard way.”

“Damn, that's some strong juju.” Cas could almost see the gears turning in Dean's head. Cas being banished that far meant they were facing a stronger opponent than maybe they anticipated. “Sounds like you’re driving though?”

“Yes, a nice man picked me up and is taking me to Reno.” He raised an eyebrow at Jeff, hoping the description was accurate. After all, he’d only known him for about twenty minutes and his faith in humanity at his point was at an all time low.

“Hm, ok.” Dean mumbled, then perked up. “Ok I’ll start driving towards you now and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle. You think you can steal a car in Reno? Remember how I taught you to hot wire?”

Cas frowned. “Driving to get me is hardly necessary, I can find my way back. Besides, I might gain my powers back shortly.”

“No arguments, Cas.” His voice was irritable. Didn’t he trust that he could get back to Lebanon unscathed? Even without his ability to teleport, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t take care of himself. He really thought they were past the whole baby in a trenchcoat bit, especially after their talk earlier that day. Had it really only been this morning that they talked in the Impala? Seemed like years ago...

“Dean, I’m certain Sam needs you at the bunker. I will get there as soon as I can to lend my assistance.”

“Sam’s fine - that bitch is locked up tight. And besides, I need you.” Dean spoke harshly, but quietly, like the words slipped out before he’d processed them. Clearing his throat again, he continued. “I need to make sure everyone is safe. So let it go, Cas. I’m coming to get you. That’s final.”

Truthfully he didn’t want to argue. The thought of Dean in his arms again made him want to punch out the driver of the current vehicle he was in, if only to take over driving to get there that much faster. He also knew the sound of a made up Winchester mind when he heard one.

“Ok Dean, I’ll call you in a few hours.” He agreed half heartedly before adding, “Please drive safely.”

“You too, buddy.”

* * *

He stole a ‘68 Mustang from the outskirts of the Atlantis’ casino parking lot. Turns out, Jeff was a serious gambler and as soon as Cas had got off the call with Dean he had proceeded to explain “the wonderful game of craps” which sounded like more trouble than it was worth. He was a bit rough around the edges sin-wise but turned out to be a nice guy - besides, Cas, who’d willingly let the devil take over his vessel for a few months, was hardly a vision of purity.

He’d driven five hours at full speed (which was only about 78mph - the engine needed work) before his head started to droop against his will. Cursing, he straightened his back and took a deep breath - if he was this tired, surely Dean couldn’t have been doing much better. He dialed the hunter as he downshifted, helping the car up a steep embankment.

“Where are you?” He coughed, his throat dry.

“Just past Cheyenne, Wyoming.” Dean’s voice sounded much better than his - chipper even. “You?”

“Five miles south of Salt Lake City.” He squinted in the lamplight at the oncoming sign. “Dean, it’s two in the morning. I’m worried about you driving.”

“You think after a day like today, I was going to sleep anyway?”

Good point. “No, I suppose not.”

“But hey man, if you’re tired, pull over. I’m good to drive, I’ll find you. How far into those woods were you?”

“About twenty miles. I ran most of the way out.” Cas replied with a sigh. Still, he was frustrated with how weakened he felt - driving like this should be nothing to him. Yet he felt his eyes falling more every second.

“Shit no wonder you’re beat!” Dean chided. “Dude, pull over. Get some rest.”

“No!” Cas barked, probably too urgently. He didn’t need Dean to know how desperate he was to see him again - to make sure this all wasn’t just some happy dream and that he's actually still in those woods, sobbing and broken.

“Ok, ok.” Dean replied soothingly. “Alright well, how about we stay on the phone? Keep each other awake?”

Dean and Cas, in the history of their friendship, never had a call that lasted longer than ten minutes - and if it went that long, it was to download lore. They don’t just ‘talk’ on the phone. The prospect was both thrilling and nerve wracking - but if the point was to keep Cas awake, it was working.

“Sure.”

Silence filled the line - and stayed that way for at least sixty seconds.

“This will only work if you talk, Cas.”

“Sorry.”

“I guess I should fill you in on your crazy family.” Dean started with a long suffering sigh, and dove into the events that lead to Amara and Chuck riding off into the great wide wherever. Cas felt a tinge of disappointment - he’d wanted to speak to his father. Ask him things like, well, why’d he set him on this damn path to begin with? But the feeling faded as quickly as it appeared, because listening to Dean ramble was one of his favorite things to do. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face as he finished.

The line went silent again. Now it’s his turn to talk.

“Uh, what’s your favorite color?” Cas interjected awkwardly. In his now vast knowledge of pop culture references, he remembered that was usually a question that you ask someone you’re trying to get to know while on a date. He hoped Dean wouldn’t pick up on any other implementations of the question.

“Uh, black, I guess?” Dean answered. “I never really thought about. But my Baby’s black so, yea. Black. You?”

“Green.” Cas answered. “Not the kind of green you have down here though. There are meadows, in Heaven that go on in infinity, with the richest green I’ve ever seen. The green of your eyes is also pleasant.” He finished as an afterthought, hoping Dean would take the compliment. He’d never actually say that if he was physically in front of him but - something about the anonymity of the phone made him feel a bit bolder.

Dean laughed a bit. “Pleasant? You sure know how to flatter a guy, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean sighed. “You didn’t. I just don’t know how to take a compliment, you know me.”

Silence again, then Dean spoke again.

“Gotta keep talking, Cas. Ask me another question.”

“I don’t know another one,” he replied truthfully. Or maybe he was just so weary from the day it was hard to think straight.

“Ok, I’ll ask you one then.” Dean took a beat, and then a breath. “Why do you stay? With us, I mean?”

After all these years, you’d think he’d be pretty used to Dean shooting from the hip like that. But the question still stopped him in his tracks (though thankfully, only mentally and not physically, as his foot continued to press the accelerator towards the floor).

“Do you want me to go?” Cas asked, trying to dodge the question.

“What? No!” Dean barked defensively. “No, man. I just - you’ve been with us for so long and we get so wrapped up in our own shit - I just wonder why it’s worth it to you? You could be doing anything. Sippin’ pina coladas in Mexico or running with the bulls or just, damn, anything else.”

Castiel was silent for a bit longer, and could hear Dean on the other end just breathing, the quiet roar of his car as he sped towards him. He wondered if maybe the hunter felt as emblazoned as he did earlier- middle of the night - almost losing each other that day - speaking to each other but without their normal filter, blurring the lines between them that were much clearer face to face.

“I didn’t understand what family was until I met you both.” Cas started with some hesitation. “You know the politics in heaven. I love my brothers and sisters but we don’t care for each other like you and Sam do. I wanted to be around that. And you two - you, Dean.” He clarified, then pushed himself to continue. “You - accept me. No one else has ever done that. So I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

There was another quiet moment where Cas tensed, fearing he’d exposed too much, before Dean finally replied.

“I forget, a lot, that you’re a badass angel who’s lived thousands of years. And when I remember I just think ‘why would a guy like that waste his time with us?’, you know?”

_Because in my millennia of life, I’ve never met anyone like you._

Cas cleared his throat, unsure how to respond appropriately. “Is it my turn for a question?”

“Yeah man, shoot. Wait, wait a sec.” Castiel heard some shuffling, and then Dean’s voice has more of an echo. “I put you on speaker phone - do the same.”

It took Cas a minute to figure it out but soon he had Dean quite literally in his lap, both hands on the wheel, a sky full of stars before him and two hours to go before they reached each other. They kept talking for the rest of the ride, about everything and nothing. Cas told him a story when he was training as a soldier. Dean told him a story of the first time he’d totaled a car. Cas asked him where he’d like to travel to. Dean asked him who his favorite Beatle is. All the while he could hear the hunter’s grin on the other end of the phone and he mirrored it.

They met finally in Rock Springs, Wyoming somewhere around three thirty in the morning. Dean had used the map on his phone to narrow down a parking lot of a twenty four hour diner they could meet in.

“I haven’t eaten all day, I’m freaking starving.” Cas could see the Impala as he approached and there, in the driver’s seat, grinning, was Dean. As he pulled into the parking lot it took all of his willpower to not ditch the car mid drive, tuck and roll out of the door and run directly at the hunter. Practicing a fair amount of restraint, he parked alongside him and their eyes met through the car windows - both phones still on.

“I guess we can hang up now.” Dean said, and he watched the pantomime of his lips speaking the words as he heard them through the phone. But the hunter’s face - it was lit up. Like seeing Castiel was the best thing that’s happened to him all day.

Fuck the phone.

Cas bolted from the car and rounded it as Dean stepped out of his. As he had in the graveyard he pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Dean was here. Dean was alive. It was all real. He wasn’t still in those damn woods. They’d made it - they’d survived another apocalypse together. His heart thundered in his chest and refused to let up as he felt prickles of tears threaten to take over. He let the feel of Dean close take over his senses and indulged himself for a moment, getting lost in the embrace. But then he heard a noise that made his heart stop - a sniffle. From Dean. The hunter’s hand moved from Castiel’s back to cup the back of the angels head, gripping it tenderly.

“Dean?” Cas started and pulled back to see those beautiful green eyes watered and his face twisted. He looked so raw and exposed for a moment, before he closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath, pulling himself together.

“Sorry I just - lots of shit happened today. I’m just glad to see you.” Dean pulled him again into another hug, and Cas was pretty sure it was to avoid eye contact. He rubbed Dean’s back soothingly as he felt tears fall silently from his own eyes. They were a damn mess. But for once, for just this once, in the middle of nowhere on a crisp Wyoming night, they could be broken together and that was ok.

“I’m glad to see you too.”


	2. Simple Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An admission, in the very simplist of terms, in the way only simple men could do - and no less significant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of fluff before real story develops. Fluff is just too damn easy to write with these two!
> 
> Inset lyrics from Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd

They didn’t hold each other much longer - as their breathing calmed Dean’s stomach gurgled to life and they separated, both looking sheepish but mollified. Maybe they needed that.

“Come on.” Cas started, breaking the hug and turning his body but keeping his arm on Dean’s lower back to guide him towards the diner. Shockingly Dean didn’t move his arm either - and it stayed wrapped around the angel’s shoulders decisively as they moved. The tender gesture was unusual but not unwelcome - it felt nice to have him so close, energizing, in a way. If Dean was here physically he could take care of him and everything would be fine.

His presence seemed to have the opposite effect on Dean, whose eyes started to droop as they walked into the bright diner. It was something you’d see in a movie about the fifties: red, white, vinyl and all American. The smell of old grease hit them first and Dean moaned a little at it.

“Cheeseburger, then sleep.” He mumbled with a half smile, sitting at the bar. Castiel actually found himself hungry - seemed the weaker he felt, the less like molecules food tasted. The waitress was surly but helpful, bringing them food and beer straight away - not like there was anyone else to serve. They ate in companionable silence, the closeness of the installed bar stools forcing their knees to crowd together. But neither moved, neither made a fuss about it. A television rang in the corner a story about the day’s events with the sun, how they’d “Never seen such scientific phenomenon!” and how they’ll be “Studying the effects of the day for years to come!”. Let them study. Hell, next time, let them try to fix it.

They stumbled back out of the diner knowing it wouldn’t be long before the sun rises but neither much in the mood for driving. Somehow they hadn’t really stopped touching since seeing each other and even now they walked too close together towards the cars, bumping hands and shoulders.

“Good choice of car.” Dean murmured with a nod, unlocking the driver's door to the Impala and reaching in to unlock Cas’. “The Mustang, I mean.”

“I do have good taste.” Cas belched a little and tasted beer and meat and he wondered in his sleepy state if that’s what Dean tasted like all of the time. They settled into their seats, crossing their arms, heads against the driver's side doors, long legs stretched across the leather. The angel glanced over to see Dean was already half asleep, dropping slowly along the window to rest his head against the back of the seat.

They were silent for a while, and Cas walked that line between sleep and wake where everything is sort of surreal. He heard Dean’s light snore and it filled him with warmth. So lucky. He’s so damn lucky. And because now he knew that his father might be listening (wherever he flew off to with Amara), or just because he felt such a renewed sense of happiness he sent a quiet prayer of thanks as he passed out.

* * *

 

It felt like he stayed in that half asleep state for most of the night but before he realized he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He blinked awake to the sight of Dean’s green eyes, almost translucent in the light of the early morning. His look of concern was erased as their eyes met, replaced with a small grin, and Dean didn’t move his hand.

“Morning,” he said, voice gentle. “I was gonna start driving but I didn’t want to spook you with the car starting. Go back to sleep.”

_My God he is beautiful in the morning._

Cas couldn’t remember seeing him like this - sort of raw and vulnerable, carefree in a way. His hair was mussed and he had dark lines on his face where sleeping against the seat had made its mark. It made him seem softer somehow, damaged but healing.

“No, I’m awake. Thank you.” Cas straightened himself out, stretching his muscles. The sleep, or whatever it was, had hit his angel reset button - to his relief he felt fully juiced again. He smiled, feeling for once in the last few days like he could actually be helpful. “Actually, I appear to be at full “angel mojo” once again - I could just get us home.”

Dean seemed to consider his offer for a moment, but then shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, I enjoy not vomiting up that burger from last night. And I’m not in any hurry unless-” he paused, and briefly looked away. “I mean, if you just want to get back….”

“I like driving with you,” Cas answered quickly, truthfully.  

Dean looked back up at him with a smile. “Well then hop up here - I’m no chauffeur, and this ain't no limo.” Dean winked, looking the angel over as he stretched and then turning to face forward. He started the car with a roar and let it idle while Cas made his way around to sit next to him. “I think I saw a drive-thru about a mile up the road; sound good for breakfast?”

“Sure.” Cas was a little shocked that Dean wasn’t just wanting to get on the road and back to his brother as soon as possible. But he wasn’t about to complain about spending some alone time with him. Something seemed - different about the hunter. Not in a bad way, he just seemed calmer, more open. To borrow a term from him, less like there was a stick up his ass.

The car jolted forward, turning down the highway. Sunshine through the windshield temporarily blinded Cas and he grimaced. Without looking, Dean flipped down the visor in front of the angel, giving his eyes some reprieve. The edge of his lips turned into a smile as he gripped the wheel.

“It's a new day, Cas.”

* * *

“So, I know I said I was done talking about yesterday-” Dean started, his mouth half full, as he finished the last of his breakfast burrito. He crushed the wrapper with one hand and wiped his mouth with his forearm.

“I know you don’t enjoy talking Dean. It’s ok,” Cas answered, and he meant it. There had always been an unspoken understanding between the two of them. He only pushed Dean to talk when he knew he truly needed to - right now the hunter had this sort of lightness about him that frankly, was so rare Cas didn’t want to mess with it. He just wanted to revel in it until it inevitably dissipated the closer they got to the bunker and that woman in their dungeon.

Dean gave a sideways smile, but didn’t look at Cas. “Thanks but,” he sighed, “something happened after Amara and Chuck peaced out that I should probably tell you.” He hesitated, shoulders hunched. “When I left I wandered back through the cemetery and well, my mom was there.”

Cas raised his eyebrows and turned to face Dean, setting the rest of his breakfast in his lap. “Your mother? In spiritual form?”

“No, I mean, in the flesh. Living, breathing, Mary Winchester. In her damn nightgown.” Dean’s hands gripped the wheel a little tighter as he stared forward. “Amara said something about giving me something I needed before she left. I figured there would be a cold beer or something waiting for me at the bunker.”

“It is entirely within Amara’s power to bring back the dead.” Cas mumbled, the wheels in his brain turning. “Is she, uh, normal? What happened then?”

  
“I just, uh, took her home. She seems to be fine - confused but happy to be back.” He shrugged.  “She’d seen Sam and I as adults, years ago, so that wasn’t too much of a shock. She said she’s been hiding in different people’s heavens, trying to avoid being caught and being used against us.”

Cas smirked at that. What little he did know about Mary, he knew she was fierce. “She certainly sounds like a good hunter, your mother.”

“She was - she is.” Dean corrected, biting the bottom of his lip. It was odd the way talking about her seemed to tear him up and settle him all at once.  

A silence fell in the car, and Cas watched the landscape change from harsh mountains with rocky ridges to softer meadows along the highway. They were making good time but he’d certainly seen Dean drive faster.

“You left her with Sam?” Cas asked tentatively, knowing that he’d get a proper shut down if he took this conversation in too personal of a direction. Getting Dean to talk about his feelings was always more of a dance, and one Cas sort of stumbled through on a good day.

“Yeah.” Dean’s response was somewhat controlled, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Are you ok, Dean?” he pushed.

There was a silence before Dean spoke his answer. “It’s a lot man. I mean, I’m happy she’s back. But this changes the dynamics of everything - Sam and I aren’t used to anyone looking over our shoulders. And I don’t want to -” he stopped. “Forget it.” He ended roughly.

“You don’t want her to be disappointed in you,” Cas supplied and Dean let out another breath.

“Yeah.”

Cas turned his body to face Dean again, though the hunter kept his eyes on the road. “You know she won’t be. You and Sam, you’ve only ever done your best. You’ve saved the world and each other. What more could she ask for?”

Dean shrugged, the motion seeming futile. “She never wanted us to be hunters. Hell, she wanted out of the game before we were even born. I know she hates that Dad raised us this way.”

Cas considered this for a moment - he can imagine that Mary wouldn’t have wanted this for her boys. It’s a hard life for most hunters, and the Winchesters have had a particularly rough go. They’d work so hard and protected so many people - they’d earned themselves some rest.

“And we’re too far in now,” he continued, frowning in frustration. “We’ve tried to break out of it and I don’t know, maybe Sammy still could. But shit, I can’t. I tried with Lisa and Ben, and it's just - I’m just a damn grunt. That’s who I am.”

Dean’s fingers gripped the wheel tight and he stared straight ahead, teetering between breaking down and swallowing whatever was bubbling up inside. Cas reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder gently, mirroring what Dean had done that morning. The muscles under his fingertips were hot and tense. The action made Dean close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.  

“Ugh, fucking chick flick moments,” he grumbled through an emotional tone, trying to give a small smile.

“Our parents’ judgement is important,” Cas started, trying to think of something to say that might help. “But we can’t measure our self worth alone on it. For the record, I’m proud of you.”

Whatever he’d expected Cas to say, it wasn’t that. Dean turned to finally look at him, his face a mixture of confusion and self-pity. Castiel, ever cautious of proceeding too far and scaring Dean off, probably should have stopped there. But he just wanted to fix this for him - make just one damn thing better in his world.

“I know that you’re not perfect, Dean. But you never stop fighting for your family and you’re a good man. You didn’t think twice about sacrificing yourself for the world yesterday and you wouldn’t let anyone help you. And I wanted to.” Cas stopped, clearing his throat. “Hunter or not, that’s the kind of man your mother should be proud of.”

Dean smiled lightly as he turned back to the road. He kept grinning for another few moments, his grip loosening on the wheel. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. “That’s why I needed to come get you Cas. You always know how to call me on my shit.” He reached up and patted the hand that was still on his shoulder.

They drove in silence for a while and but the atmosphere between them had returned to a much lighter one. Cas loved this - sitting beside Dean, the road stretched out before them and no agenda. They’d passed through another city and were back on a country highway, the air clean, warm and smelling vaguely of grass. This was a slice of heaven on earth.

“This is nice,” he commented, and Dean nodded at the sentiment.

“For the record,” Dean piped up, voice gruff, “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

While it was rare for Dean to take a compliment it felt rarer still for him to dish one out. The angel didn’t turn to him, fearing that the expression on his face would betray just how touched he felt.

“Not just for sticking by Sam and me. You’re always sacrificing yourself for humanity even though it’s never done shit for you.”

“That’s not true,” Cas clarified, the corners of his mouth turning into a grin. “I enjoyed ‘Orange is the New Black’ very much.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Cas, everyone loves lesbians. But seriously, I told you to step away from the Netflix, man.” He chided with a smile. “We need to get you a new hobby.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“What about music?” Dean leaned forward, picking up the beat up shoe box they kept cassettes in and tossed it at Cas. “Pick one, we’ll listen to it.”

Cas opened the box and sorted through the dusty tapes. Some had covers - but most didn’t. All with names he recognized but didn’t feel any sort of attachment to.

“No, I’d rather listen to one you pick out.” He turned to the hunter and Dean smiled proudly.

“I can finally give you a proper music education?” He reached over and fingered through the tapes in Castiel’s lap, his hand brushing the angels as he pulled a few up to read their contents. “It's about time!”

Cas felt a warmth in his chest at Dean’s enthusiasm. They still had about eight hours on the open road to go, and he was going to enjoy every single second of this lighthearted and honest version of his hunter.

Dean plucked out a tape and held it up with two fingers between them: Lynyrd Skynyrd. “Alright, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover but this - this I need to hear first.”

The album started with guitars screaming and a man’s voice sounding like every country song he’d ever heard. Dean had turned it up too loud, and the windows were down, pouring the music out of the doors. It felt like the music surrounded them, and Cas heard the drums in his bones. It was invigorating, and song after song was just so damn Dean - rough around the edges, unfinished and absolutely solid. He tried not to watch the hunter sway a little to “Tuesday’s Gone”, or perk up a little and tap his fingers to “Gimme Three Steps.” But there was a serenity to Dean as he let the music wash over him, like a release, and Cas could feel it - practically feed off of it.

The guitar on the last song started simply, and Cas watched as Dean's fingers plucked lightly at the steering wheel like they were guitar strings. As the music crescendoed he was surprised to see Dean open his mouth and sing softly along.

_“Mama told me, when I was young._

_Said sit beside me, my only son_

_And listen closely to what I say_

_And if you do this, it’ll help you, some sunny day”_

Dean glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye shyly as his fingers kept tapping soundlessly. This was an exposed moment - it’s not that he’d never heard Dean sing while driving before. They boys would occasionally sing along to a tune (rather out of tune) together, especially after a night of beers, back home from a bar on a hunt. But this was different - this song had meaning for him right now and he was bearing a part of himself to Cas that he kept buried deep most of the time.

_“Oh take your time, don’t live too fast._

_Troubles will come, and they will pass_

_You’ll find a woman, and you’ll find love_

_And don’t forget son there is someone up above.”_

He smiled a bit at the irony of the last lyrics, and raised his voice to sing the chorus with a bit more confidence.

“ _And be a simple kind of man_

_Oh be something you’ll love and understand._

_Baby, be a simple kind of man_

_Won’t you do this, for me son, if you can.”_

Cas watched with fascination, trying not to turn his whole body to stare but instead tilting his head, eyes full of wonder. Dean sang with a smile to his lips, taking deep, full breaths between lines. His left arm hung outside of the Impala and the air around them whirled a little, trying to drown the sound of his voice. But Cas could hear that voice in a tornado - he could hear it a million miles away. He heard it more now in his heart than his ears and dammit, he wanted this moment to stretch for eons.

_“Boy don’t you worry, you’ll find yourself_

_Follow your heart, and nothing else_

_And you can do this, oh baby, if you try_

_All that I want for you my son, is to be satisfied.”_

He said nothing as the song reached an end, the feeling in the car almost too bare. The tape ended and he popped it out, flipped it and pushed it back in. He turned down the music though as it started again, like he expected to talk. Castiel felt just as exposed somehow by listening to him sing, like they’d experienced that raw emotion together. He asked the question before he could process what the answer would be.

“Why’d you come to get me, Dean?”

“Because when Amara said she would give me something I needed, my first thought was you.” He answered quickly, plainly, and not meeting the angel’s eye. But his lighthearted demeanor was extinguished instantly.

Castiel felt his heart skip a beat, and he swallowed dryly. He was torn between reaching across the seat and pulling Dean into a dangerous driving hug or saying something to change the subject so that Dean wouldn’t feel foolish for admitting his thought to Cas. This was a crazy tense moment, edging along something more important, deeper. There had been precious few of these between them and Cas approached cautiously.

“Dean…”

“No just - let me get this out before I lose my damn nerve,” he grumbled, still laser focused on the road like a lifeline to his own sanity. “I don’t mean I need you because you’re a great fighter or because you’re an angel with an encyclopedia for a brain. I mean I need you because you get me. You let me be me. No one else does that. Not even Sammy. And the thing is, you get me _and_ you’re still my friend. You’ve seen my worst days, _I’ve tried to kill you_ , and you're still here. I don’t have any fucking clue why but damnit, I don’t want you to go away, ever.”

The last words were sort of croaked out and his face fell. Cas would know that look anywhere, and he ached to see it now - he was just waiting. Waiting for Cas to hurt him, reject him somehow, despite his own speech to the contrary. Because despite his often boisterous appearance and devil may care attitude, Dean had only ever believed that he was truly unworthy of deep devotion. It tugged at the angel’s heartstrings and he wanted to tell him not to worry, that would never be a problem as long as he wanted him around.

“I don’t want to go away.” Cas replied quietly, his words careful.

“Look at that, we need gas!” Dean exclaimed, changing the subject jarringly and looking down at the speedometer. “You hungry? Looks like there's a gas station up the road, we could get some food?”

Cas hesitated - he didn’t want to drop this but he didn’t want to push either. He settled for nodding and agreeing on a burger as Dean took the off ramp. They drove in heated silence as Dean pulled next to a pump and practically jumped out of the car, throwing a twenty at Cas.

“Get me a cheeseburger?” he called without looking back and walked to the side of the car, starting to unscrew the gas cap. Cas sighed with resignation - if they were going to continue talking, and it wasn’t going to end with Dean physically throwing him out of the car in a fit of rage against a chick flick moment, he had better chances with his stomach full.

It didn’t take him long to acquire a bag full of greasy food and he walked back to the Impala, still not sure how to respond to Dean’s declaration. Maybe the problem wasn’t that he didn’t know respond - the problem was that there was little chance Dean would actually want to listen to the truth. That Cas had been well and utterly lost from the moment he grasped his soul. That he loved him more deeply than he knew an angel was even capable of. That not even for a moment had those feelings stopped in all the years they’d known each other. That the thought of Dean kept him going, trying, living, _fighting_. That he wanted nothing more from him than to be his friend, his partner. He’d never, ever willingly and still less likely unwillingly - leave him. How do you tell your best friend that he’s the most important thing in all of creation to you?

Dean leaned against the trunk of the car, arms crossed and squinting into the distance at the forest behind them. The sun was high and blazing in the sky now - it seemed to shine too brightly to make up for the day before. It was too warm for his trenchcoat, and he shifted his shoulders a bit, trying to feel the little bit of breeze that rustled around at his feet. Noticing Cas out of the corner of his eye Dean jumped a little, trying to hurry back to the driver’s seat.

“Dean, wait.” Cas caught up with him and set the food on the trunk. He had to say something; the words felt like they wanted to rip out of him, desperately wanting to validate Dean’s feelings but not scare him away in the same heartbeat. “I wanted to say-”

“Please don’t say anything, Cas,” Dean answered coolly, looking equal parts ready to hit something and anticipating a punch himself. It was a look that said “I don't deserve whatever platitudes you have for me, so save them.”

Cas considered this for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright.”

Dean’s head drooped a bit and he began to turn at the presumed dismissal before Cas pulled him sharply into a tight hug. He pressed him against the back of the car, fitting himself squarely against the hunter. Squinting with concentration, he tried to pour all of his emotions into his embrace, willing Dean to feel how much he loved him. How much he enjoyed every moment with him. How much he wanted to spend the rest of his existence by his side. All of those things that he might have been able to say out loud, if he thought Dean might actually listen.

As he’d anticipated he was met with tense resistance. But, slowly, Dean took a deep breath against him and relaxed finally, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist and fitting his forehead to rest on his shoulder. Its was familiar though they’d never done this before. They held each other closely, hands rubbing each other’s backs, lungs filling with the other’s scent, as a sort of comfort - a feeling of “I’m here, it’s ok” and little else. Dean smelled like leather and sunshine, and his flannel was brilliantly soft to the touch.

Cas pulled away slightly and gazed at Dean. They shared a meaningful look that spoke volumes and quite suddenly, they didn’t need to have words. Sure, they were nice as a confirmation - and maybe he’d say them someday. But looking into Dean’s eyes now he saw the change, the difference the day’s events had made. How nearly losing everything gave a sense of clarity that had been muddled, drawn over before. Noticed but not cherished. And those feelings poured off of Dean in droves - Cas could almost feel them contained in his sparks of grace. Like Dean was speaking to him with his soul, somehow. _That’s new_.

“It’s not just me then?” Dean asked quietly, his eyes searching Castiel’s face nervously.

“No.” Cas answered in a breath, calm and resolute.

“Well, fuck.” Dean grimaced, but there was a twinkle to his eye.


	3. I Watched the Fire that Grew so Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Woman of Letters proves to be a formidable foe, and there is many shirtless men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I suppose I had to depart from all fluff no plot eventually, so here we are. Again, major kudos goes to rosie_berber for beta-ing and editing like a mother flipping boss. 
> 
> Inset lyrics from The Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin.

The next few hours on the road were quiet but not uncomfortable - Dean picked another tape and played it for Cas, offering a little explanation of the band and the time but mostly allowing them to feel the music together, from the beginning of the album to the end. Whatever strange feelings he had thought he felt off of Dean before had withdrawn, or perhaps had never existed, and was just an earmark of the crescendo of their moment. Still it felt like they were much more in sync than before, and Dean was significantly more comfortable so that at least was a welcome change.

 

The next tape was Houses of the Holy, a “classic” Led Zeppelin album. Dean did that thing again where he turned the music up louder than strictly necessary only, Cas could understand it now - the high volume made it easier to feel the music deep in his chest. The countryside rolled in front of them, beautiful and full of God’s majesty, as cliched as that sounded. He felt a lightness in his chest, knowing that somewhere in the universe his Father was finally happy and safe, albeit out of his reach once again. He’d wanted to ask him so many questions - getting to see Lucifer settle (at least in part) his issues with their father was - well he’d almost been jealous. But his faith was restored, at least in part. Maybe not with heaven, or his brethren but at least that his Father truly loved humanity. Enough to sacrifice as he had to save them.

 

His trail of thought was interrupted as Dean veered off the road suddenly, slamming his body against the back of the seat. They both cried out at the jolt of the car, the music still blasting around them. Dean grabbed at his chest and howled again, trying to steer the car off the highway. 

 

“Dean!” Cas grasped him with one hand, using the other to take over the steering wheel and helping the car come to a stop in the dirt. Dean gasped for breath, arching and clawing as another shot of pain ripped through his body. Cas had him by the shoulders, trying to steady him as he watched blood stains appear and seep quickly through his shirt.

 

The angel tore the shirt away (clearly a bit overzealous) and in the flesh of Dean’s chest was a sigil - one he hadn’t seen in a long time, but devastatingly familiar. Freshly carved like someone had been standing over him with a knife but Cas knew - the knife hadn’t been in the car. The knife and the carver were wherever Sam was.

 

“Dean - Dean breathe!” Cas tried to calm himself as his voice shook, only letting go of him briefly to kill the music. “I need you to take as many clear breaths as you can.”

 

“Cas?! What’s happening?!” He barked, then cried out again as another line cut across his belly, splitting the skin. 

 

“It’s - it’s an old angel curse,” Cas explained, hastily taking off his jacket, then unbuttoning his overshirt. “Keep breathing - do you understand me?”

 

Dean said nothing but nodded shakily, taking in a deep breath, letting it out through tight lips.

 

“Good. Good. Keep doing that,” Cas mumbled as he stripped off his shirt, pressing it against the wounds in Dean’s chest. He knew they could be deep enough for him to bleed out, if what happened next didn’t kill him outright. “The curse is meant to take out angels in succession - to take out siblings, specifically.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened and he grabbed at Cas’s shirt, trying to keep the pressure himself. “Sam…?”

 

“Sam is the source - someone is doing this to him.” He reached into his pocket to grab his phone, dialing Sam’s number and hoping desperately that someone would answer it. He put it on speaker but it just rang and rang. He reached forward again, peeling his bunched up shirt slightly back from Dean’s raw skin to see how far the sigil was along. It was nearly complete - there still might be time.

 

“I’m going to try to heal you, Dean. If it works, it should work on Sam as well, as you’re connected.” Cas started, putting his hands on Dean’s bare chest, on either side of the sigil. “But if I cannot I need you to keep breathing. This curse, once enacted, will kill a person by paralyzing their chest. The more air in your lungs before that happens, the better.”

 

Dean gave a strained nod as Castiel’s hands began to warm up against his skin, and the angel closed his eyes and concentrated. He may be at full strength, but these sigils were made to repel angel’s help, and quickly he began to feel his power dissipating. The wisps of his grace danced around the edges of his consciousness - he tried to grab at them but they fell through his mind’s proverbial hands. It became a frantic dance in his head, the grasping and dodging. As they continued to elude him, he started to panic - he couldn't lose him again. 

 

He opened his worried eyes and met Dean’s; half lidded but strikingly determined. This man was a warrior, a fighter to his very core - and looking at him now, it was obvious he had had no doubt in Castiel’s ability to stop this.

 

And Cas loved him  _ fiercely _ . 

 

He wouldn't lose him - or Sam. Not while he had any strength left in his body. He felt that love overtake his senses, pulsing in tune with his heart. And slowly a glow erupted from his fingertips, pointed and white hot. They didn’t break their stare but out of the corner of his eye he saw the wounds begin to seal.

 

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean encouraged, his faith in Castiel evident despite his pained tone. There was that feeling again - hard to focus on because he was expelling all of his energy into healing and fighting the sigil, but still present. Like he could hear Dean’s voice in his gut, pressing him on, having every faith that he could save him. 

 

Cas could feel the perspiration trickle down his temples. He might have been expelling a dangerous amount of energy - he might do damage to himself. But that gaze was like a fixed point on the horizon he could just keep marching towards until he was done. Until Dean was safe.

 

There was an awful sucking sound inside of him, like a joint coming out of it’s socket and he was suddenly extinguished with a gasp. Closing his eyes involuntarily he fell forward against Dean’s shoulder and the world went dark. 

* * *

His mind was cloudy, but there was a solid, warm sound against his right cheek. He wanted to turn into the sound and be buried in it, surrounded by it. There was a hand now, carding gently through his hair. He couldn’t recall having felt this safe in a long time.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice sighs softly, and breathing deeply, as if he’d not taken in air before that moment. He blinked open his eyes - he was lying against Dean’s chest, as he was cradling Cas, bare skin to bare skin. Strangely the intimacy of their position hardly seemed to register with Dean, his brow furrowed in worry as he looked down at Cas. 

 

“Hey.” Dean searched the angel’s features. 

 

“Dean,” Cas breathed roughly. Taking slow stock of his vessel, he realized with relief he felt alright. His grace was diminished but not dead entirely - though he’d certainly be useless to heal or transport in the immediate future. Shit - they needed to get to Sam...

 

“Your chest-” Cas recalled and shifted in Dean’s arms to look at it, still red with marks of the outline of the sigil but not cut deep - more like someone had drug their fingernails across it roughly. It was a testament to how concerned he was for Dean’s health that the thought didn’t bring to mind an image of his own fingernails dragging across that marred flesh in a very different context.

 

“I’m good - thanks to you.” Dean didn’t move but Cas did, sitting up slowly and turning again so that he could run his fingers along the marks, checking for completeness. The sigil was unfortunately whole but lightly drawn - there was a good chance that the magic could still affect the brothers if left alone. But at least the sacrifice of his grace had bought them some time.

 

Under his calloused fingers he felt Dean’s heartbeat flutter, blood pushing through his veins at a heightened speed just under the surface of his skin. It didn’t occur to him how close he was to the hunter until he glanced up into his eyes suddenly, wanting to further inspect the pupils for dilation, a sign of fever.

 

They shared the same breath, and Castiel’s brain quite jarringly shifted gears from being acutely focused on Dean’s health to being momentarily distracted by his full lips, parted slightly and just a foot from his own. Dean’s eyes were wide but not panicked - and he was already looking down at him when Cas glanced up and their gaze locked. It was then that Cas finally noticed how pained the hunter’s breathing was - how it looked like it was taking all of his strength to be sitting upright. The heated moment was broken by Dean, turning away with a scowl.  

 

“You wasted yourself, didn’t you?” Dean huffed, all bark but no bite. “You went out cold, Cas. I thought you were dead.”

 

Castiel frowned, reaching out to touch Dean’s forehead. As he suspected - much warmer than it should be. “It’s not of import.”

 

“The hell it isn’t.” 

 

“I did what I had to do - but it does now appear I cannot transport us to the bunker.” He backed up reluctantly, breaking the intimate moment and shaking his head.  “And I didn’t fix it - I just slowed it down. We need to get you back with Sam.”

 

The reminder that Sam was likely in worse shape than he was seemed to knock Dean out of his “I’m mad at Cas for sacrificing himself” funk. He looked down and ran his hand across his chest. “How long we got?”

 

Cas knew the silence stretched on too long to be reassuring. The heat coming off of Dean was higher than normal but not alarmingly intense - yet. He didn’t know, really. And the thought shook him to his core.

 

“Let’s just get home, now.”

* * *

 

After an argument in which he felt spectacularly impotent  (in which Cas finally had to assert more verbal dominance than he was used to) Dean finally agreed to let him drive. Dean shoved himself into the corner of the passenger side grumpily under the auspice of watching his driving closely to make sure he wasn’t going to “screw anything up” but was soon out cold, head resting against the glass. 

 

Castiel kept glancing over to check on him and was only increasingly disturbed at the size of the damp, foggy outline that surrounded Dean’s head. He cracked his own window, hoping to dissipate some of the wet heat that filled the car and reached out to feel his forehead again. Hotter still - and he pressed his foot to the floor harder to gain some speed.

 

When they were about two hours from home Dean’s phone finally rang, and he sat up sharply, looking like he’d awoken from a thousand year sleep. He answered it quickly though when he saw the caller ID.

 

“Sam?” He grumbled. “Are you ok?”

 

Silence, then a quick- “Oh Mom. Hey - how’s Sam?” Silence. “Yeah, me too. Cas was able to heal us, for now.” The hunter shot a quick thankful glance at Cas, who in turn darted his eyes, frustrated that his lack of grace hadn’t been able to heal them fully. “Where’s she now?” Silence. “Shit. Ok. Well, sit tight, Cas is breaking every law to get us home as soon as possible. It should be about-” Dean paused, looking around for a sign of something he could recognize.

 

“An hour and forty-five minutes.” Cas supplied, pressing still harder on the pedal, and Dean nodded, repeating it back to his mother.

 

“We will, Mom.” Dean finished warmly, resting his head back against the window sleepily. “Don’t worry, my guardian angel’s got my back.”

 

Castiel couldn’t help the way his face flushed at the compliment, but he didn’t meet Dean’s eye.

 

“No, we’ve been over this. He’s a good angel.” Silence. “There  _ is _ such a thing. Just - I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone with a long suffering sigh, setting his phone on the seat between them.

 

“How’s Sam?” Cas asked quickly, loathing the feeling of only getting half the story.

 

“He’s ok - mom says he’s burning up too. Damnit Cas, why are we so hot?” Dean moaned, reaching forward to crank open his window so he could shove his head outside of it.

 

Ignoring the possible innuendos of Dean’s attractiveness, Cas answered. “It’s part of the spell. The cursed first all feel the sigil carving, then their chests are paralyzed, and finally their blood boils.”

 

“Just another fucking Tuesday with the Winchesters, right?” Dean mumbled, his eyes closed as his head rested gently on the open window pane. The wind tossed his blond hair slightly and Cas could see it was giving him some temporary relief. 

 

“Who did this to Sam?” Cas reached over and felt Dean’s bare shoulder again - hot, but pretty much the same as before. 

 

“It was that women of letters bitch. I guess she got out and got the jump on Sam.” he grumbled. “Mom managed to shoot her off, but not before she was done carving us up like God damned pumpkins.”

 

_ Shoot her off? Definitely a Winchester. _ “And where is she now?”

 

“Fuck if I know - but not at the bunker.”

 

Shit. They need her. The only one who can stop the curse, is the person who enacted it. Cas opened his mouth to speak that but, after a hasty glance at the hunter losing his battle to stay awake, decided against it. There wasn’t anything Dean, or Sam and Mary for that matter, were going to be able to do right this moment. Better to get Dean back, under Mary’s watchful eye, and then go find the woman himself.

 

Except of course, that this was clearly a more powerful foe than any of them really recognized. She was strong enough to banish and damage an angel. She was clearly cunning enough catch a rare moment of vulnerability from Sam. And she'd somehow managed to escape whatever they'd held her with in the dungeon. No, he was going to need help, he realized. But his Father was out of pocket and he didn’t think that Crowley or Rowena were going to jump at the chance to work with them again. Which left really one alternative - and not one he was looking forward to using.

 

Dean moaned restlessly in his sleep, his brow furrowed. On instinct Cas reached out to him again, fitting his hand softly against the place where his handprint used to scar his freckled skin, before Dean’s resurrection hid the outward mark. The effect was instant for both of them - Dean’s face relaxed, and he took a deep breath; Cas felt the call of the bond between them, strong, acute and serene. He’d never really understood the feeling that touching the hunter there had always brought to him, had seemed to bring to both of them, but it had always been there. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t tested it - but after a while it had become his way of connecting with the man when words would fail him (which was often). Seeming settled he let his hand fall to rest close to Dean on the seat so that he would feel his presence but not the heat he couldn’t help but radiate from his vessel. He didn’t want to add to his discomfort.

 

“Sleep, Dean. I’ll fix this.”

 

Cas did a pretty poor job of making his voice sound convincing, but Dean nodded slightly at the sentiment regardless. He moved his hand from the hunter’s side only briefly to turn the music to a low hum, thinking maybe it would have a lullaby effect on him as he fell asleep. 

 

His intuition was rewarded with a soft sigh from Dean as the next song came on.

 

_ It is the springtime of my loving - the second season I am to know. _

_ You are the sunlight in my growing - so little warmth I’ve felt before. _

_ It isn’t hard to feel me glowing - I watched the fire that grew so low. _

 

* * *

 

Though his touch and the music seemed to put Dean at ease, it did not have a lasting effect on Cas. Indeed the longer he drove the more upset he became at the present situation. He couldn't be sure if he was angrier at the woman of letters or the universe for once again throwing Dean and Sam to the wolves. They deserved a fucking break. Mostly he was just frustrated at being drained once again, though even as he drove he started to feel incrementally better. Good - he was going to need it.

 

Thankfully Dean slept through most of Cas’s ire. They pulled up to the bunker at dusk, the orange sunlight casting harsh shadows through the surrounding trees. It was almost foreboding, but Cas shook it off, putting the car in park and leaning over to shake Dean. The hunter was still out cold (or more aptly, hot), but thankfully no hotter than he’d been a few hours before. Sighing, he got out of the car and rounded it, throwing on his trenchcoat (which felt terribly awkward without a shirt on, which lay crumpled and bloody on the floor) and slowly opened the passenger door.

 

As expected Dean slowly slid towards the ground as it opened, and Cas had to jerk to get his arms underneath him before he fell out of the car. The sudden movement woke Dean, his eyes widening with an “Oh!”. Before he had too much time to respond however, Cas had looped his arms around his shoulders, reached over and unlatched his seatbelt.

 

“I can - Cas - I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, straining a bit to sit up and being largely unsuccessful.

 

“No,” he replied simply, his predisposed grumpy attitude making him speak the word through tight lips. He didn’t especially have patience for Dean’s macho bravado right now. Bending, he grasped Dean’s knees under his arm and he stood, scooping him into his embrace. 

 

“Hey!” Dean protested, louder this time and started to half heartedly wriggle in protest - which only resulted in Castiel’s arms tightening. 

 

“Dean. Shut. Up.” Castiel’s teeth were grated and he slammed the door to Baby with his hip, taking off to the bunker. He loved the man, but sometimes he could be such a petulant child. At least for the time being Dean was picking up how irritable Cas was, and he followed instructions with a scowl.

 

To his relief the door swung open with a loud creak as he approached, and a beautiful blond woman in tight jeans and a shirt that clearly belonged to Dean stood in the doorway, shotgun in hand. She had a stern look behind the barrel before recognizing them, pointing the shotgun down and leaning it against the bannister with a sigh.

 

“Oh thank God.” She put one hand over her heart, moving aside to let Cas step in. Their eyes met briefly but she quickly looked away, instead placing her hands on either side of Dean’s face, still resting against Cas’s bare shoulder. Her brow furrowed and she moved her hands across his cheeks to his forehead in worry.

 

“I’m ok, Mom. Really.” Dean mumbled, eyes half open and his lips upturned in a grin that was clearly meant to put her at ease. Except for the fact that her son, a grown ass man, was nearly dead in the arms of another grown ass man. Likely nothing was going to put Mary at ease right now.

 

“Let’s get him downstairs.” She patted his cheek sweetly, her eyes shooting up to meet Cas’s again. With a nod he started down the stairs, and she was hot at his heels. The temperature in the bunker was significantly cooler than normal, and it was a kindness - Dean was a furnace. Not that he was complaining about actually having the hunter in his arms; under different circumstances this would be wonderful. Like, for example, if he was carrying Dean to bed….

 

As it was, he was in fact carrying him to bed as Mary led them through the hallway to Dean’s room, the door open and the sheets pulled back. A tiny fan was blowing on his bedstand, a bowl full of ice sitting in front of it. Castiel carefully leaned down to lay Dean against his memory foam and he sank with a comfortable sigh.

 

“I’m going to get some more ice packets.” Mary spoke from behind them, turning and quite literally sprinting down the hall. Cas sat softly on the bed next to Dean, reaching his hand out to feel his forehead again. 

 

“No change, nurse.” Dean smirked half-heartedly, clearly less grumpy when not being carried, and struggled to sit up. Castiel grabbed at another pillow on the bed and lifted Dean’s head gingerly, placing it behind him. He leaned back and rested, looking more comfortable. “Though your hand on my forehead is better than where you offered to put it last time I was sick.”

 

Cas blanked for a moment - truthfully his body had been somewhat on autopilot since they got back to the bunker as his brain was still running scenario after scenario, trying to piece together how he was going to track down the woman of letters. He mentally shifted gears - what was he talking about? Last time - oh…

 

The angel pursed his lips, some of the irritable tension from before leaving his shoulders. He raised his pointer finger with a cock of his eyebrow. “It’s a far more accurate measure of your body temperature - I’d be happy to check it for you.”

 

“I’m sure you would.” Dean grumbled with a wink. Wait, what? Yeah that was absolutely, 100% a cheeky Dean Winchester wink. Did he think Cas was flirting? Is that considered flirting - he was trying to joke...? 

 

He must have looked quite panicked because Dean chuckled, a strained but amused noise. “I appreciate the offer Cas, but I’m not feeling real spry. Maybe some other time.”

 

Ok, now he was sure that was flirting. 

 

Mary dashed back in the room, slightly breathless but holding what looked to be half a dozen bags of peas in her crossed arms. She came to the other side of the bed and started placing them along Dean’s legs. He jumped at the contact of cold but then relaxed, sinking further into his mattress.

 

“Thanks Mom.” He sighed. “Where’s Sam?”

 

“He’s in his room.” Mary replied, frowning as she placed the last bag on his head. “I’ve got him doused in ice as well. Now can someone tell me why both my sons are burning up like the God-damned sun?!” Her voice rose at the end and she turned to Cas with an accusatory look. He launched into a cliff-notes explanation of the sigil and it’s effects - it wasn’t like they had the luxury of time. Unfortunately it did little to mollify Mary - instead she became increasingly agitated as he continued.

 

“Damnit, I should have ran after her!” she childed herself, rising from Dean’s bedside and starting to pace. “I thought I should stay with Sam but -damnit, I had her!”

 

“You did the best you could, Mom.” Dean’s voice was so soothing it was almost jarring. The hunter doesn’t coddle anyone - but it was apparent from his tone that he didn’t want his mother to beat herself up over this. The irony of that was almost funny.

 

“I have a plan.” Cas spoke up, and all eyes were on him. He braced himself a little, pushing his hands to his sides - Dean wasn’t going to like this. “I am going to go to Heaven, and see if I can convince them to help me search for her.”

 

“Absolutely not. No.” Dean spoke low. Like there was little room for argument. To his credit he still managed to be a little intimidating, even covered in peas. 

 

“Dean, it’s not as if we have a lot of friends to choose from.” Castiel huffed in frustration.

 

“Those winged dicks are not our friends,” Dean sneered. “Hell, on a good day they just don’t give a rat’s ass about us! Why would they lift a finger now?”

 

Castiel’s ire rose again. There was some part of him, some tiny part of him, that had always appreciated how challenged he felt by Dean. As much as the man accepted him for who he is, he’d never let up testing and questioning him at every turn. Really, all of these years it's kept Cas honest, at least with himself. But right now, he just wanted the damn hunter to take him at his word. And more than that - to trust him to fix this.

 

“I’m low on power - I think I can get to heaven, but I can’t locate her myself. They’re angels - all they do is track and watch. I have a better chance of locating her with their help. I have to try, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was rough, and he added, pointedly and louder, “Do you trust me or not?!”

 

The sharp rise in Castiel’s voice caused polar opposite reactions in the two Winchesters at once. Dean blew wide with surprise - his eyes open and eyebrows raised, his hands raised a little in surrender. Mary however closed inward with a crouch and grabbed the gun that had been shoved in her waistband, pointing it at Castiel’s temple quickly with deadly precision.

 

“Woa! Woa, Mom!” Dean leaned forward, shedding pea bags and swiftly grabbed the gun by the barrel, pointing it away from Cas. He took the gun into his lap with a weak huff. “I told you, Cas is a good angel. We don’t kill the good ones.”

 

Mary pulled her hand back with a grimace, giving Castiel what Sam had always called “the stink eye” and turning back to Dean. “He - I thought he was threatening you. I - this is all new-”

 

It was then that Cas had finally noticed how shaken Mary was. In his haste to take care of Dean he’d not really given her much more than a cursory glance; now that he was taking a moment he felt like he was really seeing her, and he could see the levels of stress in her face. It made her look much older than she was (or rather, had been when she’d been killed). How completely unnerving it must be to not only be alive again, but to see your son's fully grown and then to be thrust into this non-stop insanity that was their lives. 

 

“It’s ok, Mom-”

 

“I would never hurt your son, Mary.” Cas spoke like she was the only person in the room, as he focused on the worry lines between her eyes. “Either of them. I care more for them than I do my own kind; there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to ensure their safety. Including face whatever wrath my brethren have for me to beg them to assist me to track this woman down.”

 

They shared an intense stare, each trying to size up the other. It was oddly somehow like looking at Dean and Sam put together. She had Sam’s cheekbones, and Dean’s nose. Her eyebrows were less fuzzy but the same shade of blond as Dean’s, and her earlobes were roughly the same shape as Sam’s. In looking at her now he also saw the two people he cared for most in the world, and his heart went out to her in a way he hadn’t expected.

 

She softened at his words, dropping her shoulders. “Look, I’ve had rotten experience with angels. I’m not used to them being on our side.”

 

Cas smirked, relaxing his posture as well. “Believe me, they haven’t been exactly nice to me either. It would be more appropriate to say most of the time when I see another angel they’re trying to kill me.”

 

“Great, now that we’ve established that angels are assholes, can we get to the part where this plan is a big FUCK NO.” Dean’s arms were crossed like any second now he was going to physically restrain Castiel from leaving. Except that he could hardly sit up.

 

“You didn’t answer my question - do you trust me?”

 

Something in the way he voiced the question made Dean suddenly lose his vigor. He spoke again in a plea. “Damnit Cas, of course I trust  _ you _ . I don’t trust  _ them _ . And Sam and I ain’t exactly in a position to help you out of a jam.”

 

“Trust is absolute, Dean. If you trust him, you should let him go.” Mary chimed in, still giving Cas a watchful eye before turning again to her son. “Do you believe he will do everything in his power to save you and your brother?”

 

_ Well that was unexpected. _ Both men turned to Mary with questioning looks. She leaned forward and rested her fingers on Dean’s arm, still folded against his chest. The moment was so gentle - such a stark contrast to how the three normally deal with crisis. Usually they scream and fight (often amongst themselves) to scrape together and survive - rarely was this process anything but savage. Yet here was this woman, who brought a calmness, a pause to their repetitive cycle of chaotically saving each other’s asses. And she was met without resistance. It was - refreshing, to say the least. 

 

For his part, Dean seemed to consider the question, looking first at his mother with a pained glance and then glancing right to meet Castiel’s cautious gaze. 

 

“Yeah. I know he will.” He answered her; trust, worry and just a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Just - be careful Cas. We just saved the world. I - I want you to be in it for a while.”

 

Not for the first time in the last few days (or let’s be honest, since he met Dean) Cas fought the urge to lean forward and put his lips to Dean’s forehead. Just to be that close, to reassure him of their bond. His “rusty” people skills advising him that this would likely be unwelcome, at the very least in front of Mary, he settled for a pat on the leg and a nod. Before he could move his hand though, Dean uncrossed his arms and reached out quickly, taking his hand into his own.

 

“If you don’t come back, I’ll kill you myself.” His tone was gruff, but his eyes were soft. The grasp on his hand was sincere and tight.

  
Cas smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.” And with a flap of wings, he was gone.


	4. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how good Mary is with rope, and ending with some delicious fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone! I want to get the rest of this story up this week - it's finished, but needs refining. Thanks again to my ever talented beta Rosie_Berber
> 
> Lyrics from "Dream On" by Aerosmith

_ “Every time I look in the mirror, _

_ All these lines in my face getting clearer. _

_ The past is gone - it went by like dusk to dawn. _

_ Isn’t that the way? _

_ Everybody’s got their dues in life to pay. _

 

_ I know nobody knows where it comes or where it goes. _

_ I know it’s everybody’s sin _

_ You’ve got to lose to know how to win.” _

 

He’d expected to be met at the door, so to speak, with legions of angels ready to rain hellfire (or the heavenly equivalent) down upon him for his actions in the last few months. As it stood however, he was met with the striking silence of desolate hallways. Heaven was, per usual, an exceedingly bright, immaculately maintained museum,devoid of any obvious life. He followed the long corridor to a small garden just outside, a place he knew that angels love to congregate (like a holy version of a break room) but again found it empty.

 

He began to worry - perhaps they sensed his arrival and were waiting to ambush him. It wouldn’t be the first time and besides - the last time they physically saw his vessel, he was a much larger threat. That actually would make sense, on some level, if they were worried for their safety. But no alarms sounded. No noise at all was made but the soft sound of the soles of Castiel’s shoes as they moved from room to room.

 

He reached the end of another long hallway and turned right, making his way towards Metatron’s old office. If nothing else, whomever is in charge should be the current occupant of that space and should hopefully be able to provide him with some answers. If not - well, one disaster at a time. Thankfully, he found the door open and inside, a familiar wrinkled face was nose deep in the latest  _ Game of Thrones _ novel.

 

“Castiel?” Metatron looked grinned widely as he looked up. The angel stood still in the door, shock planting his feet from moving further. “Why, my good friend! It’s so great to see you - do come in!”

 

Despite the supposedly friendly invite, Cas didn’t move an inch. He slyly shifted his arm, allowing the angel blade to drop defensively. Amara had destroyed Metatron - every bit of him, down to his last celestial essence. No one survives that. No one.

 

“How-”

 

“Castiel, please.” Metatron sighed, putting a bookmark in his novel, and setting it to his left. He folded his hands in front of him and gave him an open shrug. “I’m sure you have many questions. And I will be happy to answer them, but first, I suppose you’re not here for a social visit?”

 

“I, uh. No.” His thoughts darted back to the Winchesters in peril and he was focused again, like a slap to the face. He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust Metatron but, given that his last actions on earth were pro-Team Free Will and this was the first angel he’d seen, he was scant on options. He pushed the blade back and stepped forward.

 

“I need assistance locating a woman - she’s used the fratris sigil on Sam and Dean.”

 

The seated angel’s eyebrows pulled together as he shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Metatron frowned, and for once, it seemed genuine. “I did like them, you know, especially in the end. It wasn’t all bad between us. They were good little soldiers.”

 

“They’re not dead!” Cas barked at his implication, responding low through clenched teeth, and Metatron’s face went white. “I need help finding her to stop the curse.”

 

“How, the hell, if you’d pardon the vernacular, did you stop that curse from killing them?!” Metatron actually spit a bit as he spoke; Castiel could see the foamy drops form on the varnished wood of his desk. “That sigil kills our kind instantly - it would kill humans, well, also instantly!”

 

“I just - I used my grace?” Cas answered, taken aback and confused as to why that would be remarkable. Though, come to think of it, he’d never heard of the sigil being stopped with grace...

 

“And then you had enough juice to get up here?” Metatron practically yelped, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Cripes, he wasn’t kidding about you. We’re lucky you’re on our side.”

 

“I’m on the Winchesters’ side.” He responded with a bite, feeling defensive. And anyway, this conversation wasn’t getting him the woman of letters any faster. “Are you going to help me or not?”

 

He noticed then the defensive posture Metatron had assumed- the angel looked almost afraid of Castiel. Not quite like when he was human, and cowering before him, begging to save his own skin. This Metatron seemed to have returned to his former glory - when he was the scribe of their Father but before his head had exploded with power (and then actually  _ had _ exploded). With a careful breath he nodded, rising from the desk and rounding it sharply. He stood in front of Castiel with as much determination as he could muster, being that helping the angel wasn’t likely in his best interest. Castiel didn’t question his lack of hesitation further - at this point it was working for him.

 

“This woman - do you know anything about her?” Metatron began, his stubby fingers wiggling against his side.

 

“Only that she is part of the Men of Letters. And blond.” 

 

“Ah yes, I'm somewhat familiar with that lineage, even now.” And of course he was - for all his cocky attitude, Metatron always had the best memory for their Father's followers. “I think I know who you're referring to - shall we go have a look?”

 

“Yes.

 

And with another whoosh of wings, they were gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Each angel slowly turned in a small circle within the solitary terminal of the rural Kansas airport. The small stature of the single room encompassed the terminal, ticketing desk and security area. It was almost confining, though they’d managed to apparate in a remote corner. The entire area donned shades of blue, from the chairs to the carpet to the desks. To their left they could see the small TSA checkpoint, and a woman carrying a toddler girl on her hip making her way through the line. The child was wiggling in boredom; every time they passed through the x-ray something beeped, and they kept having to go back. Castiel would have almost felt sorry for her if she wasn’t the very last thing on his mind.

 

“Ahh, the banalities of life. Am I right, Cas?” Metatron smirked, folding his arms, taking in the scene with pretentious arrogance. 

 

“Where is she?” Cas answered, in no mood to wax intellectual about humanity, least of all with him. He frantically looked through the small terminal - it wasn’t as if there was a lot of ground to cover. Maybe she was in the bathroom?

 

“Patience.” Metatron murmured and nodded back toward the checkpoint where the woman was finally (with great relief) passing through the x-ray unbeeped with her daughter. As she moved forward the next person appeared from behind - the blond woman, from the bunker. Metatron put out a firm hand to Castiel’s arm to hasten his instant advance.

 

“Is this your first rodeo, cowboy? We can’t just grab her in front of all these people,” he whispered. “Wait until she's by herself.”

 

Cas scowled but remained motionless, observing as she placed her bag through the scanner and stepped through the x-ray. She looked pretty worse for the wear in jeans and a white leather jacket - clearly she had cleaned herself up somewhat, but he could see a fresh cut in her fat lower lip, and a bandage over her nose. She also walked with a noticeable limp, and he could see blood on her sock as she grabbed her shoes from the conveyer belt, having herself passed through the machine unbeeped. He couldn’t help his inward smile, proud that the Winchesters had already got a few good hits in.

 

They observed her slyly as she walked toward a more inconspicuous corner of the terminal to adjust her clothing and slip on her shoes and belt. Metatron released Castiel’s arm like  he was a guard dog, they took off towards her, reaching her in a few short steps. She raised her head sharply with their approach, but before she could speak they were gone swiftly, landing outside of the bunker with a thud.

 

“Damn angels!” she screamed (having remarkably good recovery time from transporting, or just ignoring the nausea that always seemed to plague the Winchesters from the travel) and yanked her arms away so forcefully that both of them let go. From the bottom of the sleeve to her jacket shot an angel blade, and both men took a defensive step back. 

 

“How the hell did you get that through TSA?” Metatron yelled, backing even further away yet strangely not flying off as Castiel had expected. 

 

“Wardings.” She murmured and lept at Cas, missing his body but catching his trenchcoat. The blade ripped through a few inches before he pulled away, raising his fist and hitting her square in the jaw. Her head twisted with the force, and she stumbled back, spitting blood.

 

“Huh. I never thought of that.” Metatron might as well have been carrying on a conversation about tea sandwiches for how concerned he seemed right now as Cas and the woman of letters went at each other, hitting, slicing, dodging. She was clearly well trained and faster than she looked - he was starting to understand how she could have gotten the slip on Sam in his injured state.

 

A sudden shotgun blast came from behind them, and Cas didn’t need to turn around to know it’s likely origin. Taking advantage of her temporary distraction he hit her again, this time in the stomach. Hard. She doubled over with an “oof” and he grabbed the angel blade from her grasp, tossing it away from the both of them and seizing her arms again, bracing them harshly against her back. Like a caged beast she struggled against him, using her heels to try to kick out his knees, but his grip held true and steady.

 

“Mary!” He bellowed, speaking with his deep seated faith in all Winchesters as he still hadn’t turned to verify it was her. “Grab some rope!”

 

From the direction of the bunker door behind him, he heard her call “On it!”.

 

* * *

 

Mary was remarkably good at tying people up. Well, he supposed it wasn’t so remarkable when he thought about the fact that she’d grown up a hunter. He watched her with careful precision encase the blond woman as she spit and bit at the two of them. They had chosen to cage her in the library for the interim, deciding that moving her to the dungeon would take too much precious time. Metatron walked slowly along the edges of the room, keeping a safe distance but disguising it as interest in the volumes that lined the shelves.

 

“Should be good.” Mary murmured as she yanked the last knot, stepping back from the chair. Cas mimicked her with more caution, keeping his hands close in case the woman decided to run again. There passed a moment where they all quietly glanced at each other - the blond woman looking up at Cas from beneath scowled eyebrows, bleeding from various parts of her face. She looked menacing enough - probably should have been intimidating. Except she now faced a foe arguably more formidable than Cas - a pissed Winchester mother.

 

Mary drew her fist back and hit the woman square in the cheek. She cried out, blood and spit sputtering out of her lips and nose from the impact. She turned her head back to look up at Mary, squinting as an open cut on her forehead pooled into her eyes. Castiel had to hold back a smile, seeing Mary defend her sons was strangely satisfying to watch. 

 

“This is cute, how you think this will hold me.” The woman finally spoke, her tone conversational, and she wiggled her hands around as if to demonstrate how temporary her bindings were. In truth the skin around the ropes was an irritated shade of red - they were likely uncomfortably tight. “Even if it manages to, I’m afraid I was expected home this afternoon. My people will know something’s amiss, and they know my mission - won’t be long before they come here themselves.”

 

Later, he would realize that it was really her tone, so light and uncaring in the face of two very upset, very threatening members of Team Free Will, that threw him off the edge he’d been so carefully balancing on since Wyoming. He was suddenly an inch from her face, spitting his words as if they could hurt her on their own. 

 

“I don’t give a shit who comes for me. You will remove the sigil from Sam and Dean. Right. NOW.”

 

Her brown eyes went wide, and she made a choking sound. Kept making it actually, and her mouth went agape, struggling to gasp for air. 

 

“I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you want. I only care about them,” he growled, zeroing in on those bulging eyes. He could feel his vessel’s pulse begin to race. “Do it now, or I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully.”

 

“Castiel - that’s enough.” Mary’s voice warned from behind him but he couldn’t hear her. All he could hear were the sounds of the tiny veins popping, one by one, in the eyeballs of the woman who had brought this curse upon them - who had turned their lives upside down again. Who had stolen from all of them another so desperately fought for victory, only to drag them back into this senseless chaos.

 

_ I just got him back. I will not lose him again. I will NEVER lose him again! _

 

“Cas! Stop!”

 

Dean’s voice knocked him out of his blood fueled rage and he released the chokehold he had on the woman’s neck. Wait - when had his hands wrapped around her neck? He stepped back in a daze, looking at his shaking fingers, still curled as if they were only paused in their deadly action and were ever eager to start again at a moment's notice. From the corner of his eye he saw Metatron, who had paused in his exploration, staring peculiarly at him, biting the edge of his lip. He moved out of the way as Castiel approached his side to gather his wits, giving him a wide berth.

 

Cas closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the steady flow of rage pounding through his mind. She’s no good to them dead - though they only needed her blood for the ritual, it was equally important for them to figure out why  _ someone of letters _ decided to attack them. That is, once the brothers are back to normal. Then he remembered - Dean’s voice. He’d quite distinctly heard it, like he was right behind him. That's what had stopped him. He opened his eyes and scanned the room, but the hunter was nowhere he could see.

 

“Where’s Dean?” he asked, his voice cracking from his dry throat. Mary turned around from her defensive position in front of the sputtering woman, sizing Castiel up with a glance. 

 

“I left him in his room.” Mary answered cautiously, with a furrowed brow. “Why?”

 

“I heard him - just now.” Castiel frowned. From next to him Metatron made a quiet “hmm” noise, and Cas snapped his head around to look at him. The moment his blue gaze locked onto the Metatron he cowered, putting his hands up in mock surrender. Clearly the other angel knew something - but now was hardly the time to get into it.

 

“We didn’t hear Dean, Castiel.” Metatron offered and Mary nodded, her expression turning to concern.

 

“I’ll be right back. Metatron, start the ritual!” He made a dash from the library down the hall, calling Dean’s name as he rounded the corner to his room.

 

The hunter was covered in peas again, sprawled out on the bed in only his black boxers. The room was frigid, with an added four fans blowing in each direction. Dean was breathing heavy and opened his eyes to the sound of Castiel’s voice, looking aimless and confused.

 

“Cas?” Dean's  voice broke through dry lips, and Castiel was at his side immediately, putting his hand over his forehead, his cheek, his chest. His fever was dangerously higher than before, and the sigil, before a scratch, was now deep enough in places to bleed. His white sheets were stained with tiny pools of blood, and the sheen of sweat that poured off him created little streams of red down his chest to fill them. His mind had spun all day with the knowledge that inaction would lead to Dean’s death - but the visual of his deterioration was almost too much for him.

 

“Damnit.” Cas murmured, but Dean’s eyes found him, he gave a limp smile.

 

“Oh good, you’re here,” he choked, his expression disoriented. “I thought you were in trouble. It felt like you were. Where are we?”

 

Delirium was not a good sign. The heat was boiling his brain.  _ Shit. We are out of time. _ Castiel bit his lip as he tried to keep his tone even. “We’re at the bunker, Dean. I have the woman who did this. I’m going to make her remove the sigil now.”

 

“Ok, buddy.” Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head a bit, but he turned his hand into a thumbs up, causing the bag of peas to shift to the floor. “Ten-four. You’ve always got our backs, Cas. That’s why we love you.”

 

Dean finished his sentence with a hum, closing his eyes and grinning sleepily. Castiel’s hand froze just above his head - the last sentence stopping his heart for a moment. But the hunter was clearly out of his mind - he didn’t even know where they were. Ever a master of compartmentalizing, Castiel filed Dean’s little confession under “Things to contemplate and likely over think later”.

 

“I’ll be back Dean” he whispered, emotion edging his tone as it nearly pained him to leave his side. He took off down the hall again with renewed vigor to where he now heard the woman screaming. Seemed he hadn’t damaged her vocal chords too badly in his rage. 

 

“Bugger off!” she cried and he entered the room to see Metatron squeezing her still bound arm, the blood from where he had cut it pooling into a deep wooden bowl and saturating the coarse rope. He looked up at Cas and half smiled, digging his fingers in just a bit too roughly. 

 

Sadist.

 

“One order of curse curing blood, coming up!” He handed the nearly full bowl to Castiel, and rose from his knees. With a snap of his bloodied fingers, they were clean again. “Use it on Sam - he’s the origin of the spell. Once it's lifted from him, it  _ should _ lift from Dean too.”

 

“Should?” Mary called from behind them both, worry in her voice, and now a shotgun in her hand as she’d stood guard during the procedure. It was a testament to her hunter upbringing how she managed to look terrified and completely in control at the same time.

 

“Hey - it's not as if anyone’s ever survived this before, lady.” Metatron answered with sass, rolling his eyes. “If it wasn’t for your lovelorn superpowered angel over here, they’d both be dead already.”

 

“Interesting…” the blonde captive croaked through clenched teeth and Metatron, never one to miss taking advantage of a vulnerable situation, sucker punched her, cleanly knocking her out.

 

“Mary - go be with Dean. Make sure he’s- we’ll be with Sam - ” Castiel started and Mary moved with some hesitation, knawing her bottom lip. Clearly she wanted to be in two places at once - and he could hardly blame her. Empathizing, he approached, the hand that was not carrying a bowl full of blood reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Mary, we have to trust each other.”

 

She nodded decidedly and the three of them took off down the hallway, Castiel quickly turning into Sam’s room. It was the first time he’d seen him since he’d been banished across the country and he didn’t realize how much relief it would bring him to see him again, even in his current state. He hurried to his bedside, Sam opening his eyes weakly at the commotion.

 

“Mom?” he asked as Metatron followed him into the room, glancing around absentmindedly as if cataloguing every object in the room except Sam and Cas. 

 

“No Sam, it’s me.” Castiel put a hand on the younger Winchester's forehead and found it blazing. “I’m going to try to stop the curse - just hold on.”

 

Sam shook his head lazily in a nod, his expression lightening at the sound of Castiel’s voice. “I’m glad your back Cassy - we were worried about you. Dean especially. He always worries about you. I mean all the time. Sometimes I think, maybe it's because he cares about you. But then I think, nah, Dean’s not gay. But then, get this, sometimes I think -” 

 

Sam continued rambling in a stream of consciousnesses way, ignorant of Castiel’s surprised expression.  _ Later. File this one away too. _ He held the bowl out and dipped his fingers in gingerly, pulling them out and watching for a moment as the viscous liquid dripped back into the bowl. He turned to Metatron expectantly. 

 

“I don’t know the incantation,  _ scribe _ .” He sneered the last word, the implication being that he better,  _ fucking _ , help. Metatron sighed and began to chant in Enochian words that Castiel likely should have been memorizing (just in case) but was too busy tracing his bloody fingers along Sam’s raw skin and listening to the younger hunter’s delirious ramble continue.

 

“....maybe it's not about being gay! I mean, you’re an angel. You’re not really a guy. I mean, you’re a guy, but you’re also an angel. Does that make him angel sexual? He did like Anna...but I liked Ruby. Does that make me demon sexual? I mean, I don't want Crowley - though sometimes he can be nice….”

 

The sigil started closing up, white light appearing from inside the wound and fading the skin sealed over the top of it. Metatron’s voice washed over the room, the power from it and the blood filling the air with an electric current. Under his quick fingertips, Sam’s temperature started to decrease.

 

“It’s working!” they heard Mary shout from across the hall.

 

“....drink more. I mean, why would you even do that? It’s not like it would help, you know? What's - up anyway with - get this….” Sam’s voice slowed down as the sigil last slice finally closed up, and the mark went away entirely. Castiel touched his chest with his palm, searching with his grace any last indication of heat - but it was gone. His temperature had returned to normal, and even the gunshot wound was healed from his skin. Cas let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and put the bowl next to the bedside.

 

Metatron leaned forward and put his hand on Sam’s chest too - with a blink the traces of blood were gone - though so were the bags of carrots that were cooling him.

 

“Saved ya the trouble.” He smirked, rubbing his hands together as if he’d gotten them dirty in the events, though the man looked pristine. Actually, now that he noticed, better than he had in years. “You owe me one Castiel.”

 

That's never a position that he wanted to be in, especially with Metatron. But he had to admit the angel came through for them, and now on more than one occasion. He sighed with a nod of agreeance, and stood as Mary entered the bedroom.

 

“Is he alright?” they asked each other in unison, reminding Castiel of something he’d once seen in an old sitcom. Smiling at the cliche, they moved quickly to replace one another’s spots next to the now sleeping, but thankfully cured brothers. 

 

He reached the door with relief - his peas were gone as well, and Dean was sleeping, his breathing even. His skin felt exclusively soft under his fingertips as he brushed the side of his cheek and Dean moved towards the movement unconsciously with a small sigh. Castiel’s chest decompressed, the hidden apprehension fading as each easy breath flowed into Dean’s lungs. There were precious few words to describe his contentment at seeing him safe, though the feeling was not altogether unfamiliar as ‘exciting’ as their lives were. Seems they live to fight another day.

 

“You and I need to have a conversation, Metatron.” Castiel’s voice was low but unthreatening, as he felt the piercing stare of the other angel upon him from the doorway. He didn’t turn to look at him - the sight he beheld currently was too precious to sully with the pretentious smirk that undoubtedly lined Metatron’s features. He heard a chuckle, and just before another whoosh of wings, a reply.

 

“Yeah, I suppose we do. You know where to find me.”

* * *

 

He found Mary sometime later, quietly making her way through the cabinets in the kitchen. Through years of life on the road you’d think they wouldn’t be as well stocked as they were, but it seemed that domestication somewhat agreed with the Winchesters. Cas knew that Dean especially liked to keep enough food in the kitchen to make themselves hamburgers and a few select other meals, though Sam was usually the one who did the shopping, so most of the food was relatively healthy.

 

She turned and smiled warmly at his approach, considerably less stressed than he’d last seen her.  “Hungry?” she asked, pulling a block of cheddar from the fridge, uncertainty in her voice. “I don’t suppose, you eat?”

 

“Not when I’m an angel, no,” he replied with a frustrated sigh. He found that he did miss the taste of certain foods. “I don’t require sustenance. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy eating now and then, but it’s more to feel included in a ritual.”

 

“So you eat when they eat.” She pulled a knife from the block and began slicing, holding out a slice for Castiel. He took it from her peaceably and sat down at the little table, nibbling on the cheese. He concentrated, tried to discern the flavors but - all molecules. That was a shame - a sharp kind of cheddar had always been one of his favorites. 

 

“I have her chained in the dungeon.” Castiel mentioned casually between bites. “I’m not sure what else to do besides stand guard. I don't want to make any decisions about her until Sam and Dean have woken up.”

 

“Chained?” Mary popped a slice in her own mouth, and pulled her blond hair back from her shoulder, tying it up into a bun on her head with a stray rubber band round her wrist. “We didn’t have her chained before, just tied up. Didn’t think she’d be that much of a threat. Won’t make that mistake again.”

 

“I would be quite surprised if she managed to get out of this.” He shrugged, remembering the look of anger and panic in the woman’s eyes as he had placed the last of the chains on her. “Still, I will keep checking on her.”

 

“Ok” she answered, then reached a hand around to her back. She patted something that sounded metallic tucked into her waistband, and raised an eyebrow, in that moment looking so much like Dean. “And I’ll keep armed.”

 

He smirked - Castiel really liked her. The more time he spent with her, the more he admired her fierce spirit. He just hoped he could get her to trust him as much as her sons did. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Dean in the car - the hunter’s uncertainty for the future with their mother fully back into their lives had struck a chord because there’s never been an aspect of Dean’s life he didn’t want to make better, if he could. And so he found himself speaking, perhaps out of turn but in an attempt to bridge the gap that Dean was sensing before his mother’s revival and after.

 

“Mary -” he started, quickly remembering that words and talking weren’t exactly his strongest attribute. “Your sons - this is their lives. This happens a lot. Actually, it’s more accurate to say that something is usually trying to kill them, all of the time. The quiet days are very rare.” 

 

She placed the knife down and gathered the sliced cheese, making her way over to the stove area where bread and butter already sat. “I’m starting to get that.” Her response was laden with tension, as her shoulders raised a bit. “Castiel, how long have you known my boys?”

 

It felt like forever. Perhaps it was because they had transformed him so completely in their time together, that it felt more accurate to say that he’d known them his entire life. But this life, this new life with them, somehow so much more full and real than his thousands of years before them had been. He instead answered her with a more accurate description of the eight years since he’d been given a suicidal mission to pull her son from hell, hastening to start a conversation about the complexities of time with a mortal.

 

“And how long have you been in love with Dean?”

 

She asked the question without turning to look at his reaction, which was kind given that his face answered without his consent. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d been asked or approached about his love of Dean, but it was certainly the first time someone had asked that cared for Dean’s happiness as much as he did. He supposed Sam had an inkling - his natural empathy would have picked up on it years ago and anyway, true to form, he was never going to bring it up. But here was a woman that had known him for all of a day, had seen maybe a total of thirty minutes of him interacting with her sons, and she had nailed him to the cross, so to speak. Maybe he should lie - whatever was happening between him and Dean now since he’d been back from Amara, no matter how painfully slow it was going, wasn’t worth jeopardizing with an admission that strong. She may just decide to expose him if he was truthful - she’d been so haphazard in her judgement of him at first, and maybe that hadn’t changed.

 

But in the deepest parts of him, the parts that longed for his father to have answered those old, yearning questions, those parts that were frightened of his capacity to love Dean- they wanted a voice. They wanted acknowledgement. And they crawled their way out of his lips now, despite his best judgement.

 

“Eight years.” 

 

She flipped the grilled cheese with a sizzle and looked over her shoulder at him, hazel eyes squinting with her smile. “You really aren’t a normal angel, are you?”

 

Her flippant response relaxed him somewhat and he chuckled despite himself, shrugging as he popped the last bit of cheese into his mouth. “I actually take that as a compliment.”

 

She laughed, a light, joyous noise and they sat in the kitchen for quite a while after that, continuing to talk. Castiel explained Metatron to her, which required quite a bit of backstory. And some of that backstory required backstory, so by the time he was done he’d inadvertently explained the bulk of his life with the Winchesters. She’d listened attentively, her eyes sparked alternatively with interest and worry, and asked relevant questions. (More “What’s a leviathan?” and less “What’s Google?”) The more they talked, the more comfortable they both became and he was beginning to worry less about Dean’s concerns - though she was clearly fiercely protective of her boys, she wasn’t ignorant to the dangers of hunting life - and how difficult it was to get out of it.

 

The clock on the wall registered a late hour, and she looked more and more exhausted the longer they spoke. He finally excused himself, suggesting that she try to sleep for a few hours and he would check on the woman in the dungeon. Mary insisted she check on both of the boys, then murmured something about “...not wearing that damn nightgown again...” before heading off to bed. 

He found the woman in the same place he’d left her, though she was fully awake now from Metatron’s sucker punch and hissing at him as he entered.

“I know you Americans like to get your kicks from torturing people, but this is properly ridiculous.” She pulled at the chains across her chest - her arms suspended above her head and locked to another chain on the ceiling. The dungeon was nothing if not well stocked for such activities.

“I brought you a sandwich.” Castiel grumbled, setting the plate on a chair and carefully approaching with half of a grilled cheese extended. “I’ll give it to you, if you tell me what your intentions are with the Winchesters.”

“Was this your big plan?” she sneered, turning her nose up at the offer. “Starve me out? You should be packing up and leaving.”

Her attitude was so blazee - and it burned Cas deep. He’d spent so much of the last year feeling utterly useless that her lack of fear of him now drove him to a quick anger. It had served to feed his ego slightly that whatever he had done to help Dean and Sam had frightened Metatron. Indeed his power now felt - different somehow. But even though he wanted nothing more than to beat the information he needed out of this woman, he recognized a trained soldier when he saw one. She wasn’t going to talk unless there was something she wanted. In his weary state, he supposed food might be a motivating enough factor.

“I was very clear before - we’re not frightened of you, or who you work for” he replied, as calmly as he could. “As far as I’m concerned, Sam and Dean may kill you when they wake up. I’m just keeping you around in case they want to do the torture themselves.”

She raised her eyebrow - at least something appeared to be getting through to her. “How about, I’ll give you half the information you want for half of the sandwich.”

“Start at the beginning, and we’ll see.” He leaned forward again, pushing the sandwich under her nose as menacingly as that could legitimately be done.

“Her name is Lady Antonia Bevell, and she appears to be on assignment to arrest our young heros,” a low voice from behind them answered. He turned to see Metatron again, leaning against the open door frame. “At least, that's what I gathered from these.” He threw a few pieces of luggage onto the ground in a heap.

As good of a little solder as Antonia was, her surprised (but quiet) gasp betrayed her. Arrest Sam and Dean? For what crime?

“Where did you get those?!” she grumbled from behind them. 

Metatron smirked. “The airport. You said you used wardings to hide your weapons from the TSA. I just had to get a look at those - very clever, by the way.” He bent to reach into the front pocket of her rolling luggage, pulling out a passport and tossing it Castiel. The picture in the front matched the name, and the pages were nearly filled to the brim with stamps from all over the world.

“Her name was easy enough to find. She’s also got some documents in here with the MOL insignia with her mission statement. Oh, and thanks for the great biscuits.” Pulling a tubular bag out of his own pocket Metatron popped one into his mouth with a grin. Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes - that damn angel can’t taste anything either. His flair for the dramatic, however, appears ever insatiable.

“Well, that information hardly matters. They’ll be along soon enough to finish the job I started.” She replied but her tone was sharper - she was worried now. Perhaps there was more to the luggage - they’d go through it in the morning. For now it seemed like he was done with her; through no cause of his own he’d gotten what he came for, and now he just wanted to go check on Dean.

“I suppose I owe you another one,” Castiel reiterated, setting the sandwich back on the plate and turning to leave. Metatron put his hands up again in mock surrender, shaking his head. 

“I was only joking before, Castiel. What's a little burglarizing and blood letting between friends?”

“Friends…” Cas’s voice trailed off as he bent to gather the luggage. No sense in leaving it in here for her to potentially (albeit, unlikely) get access to. He wasn’t about to underestimate her again, especially because he knew for sure now that she was likely very well trained for situations just like this. The sandwich however, he’d leave in the chair, just out of reach. He considered taking it -  mercy is, after all, the mark of a great man. Perhaps he wasn’t such a great man after all.

Her voice was shrill with panic from across the room, solidifying his suspicions that they’d find something interesting in the luggage. “You’ll regret this, angel. I’m going to kill that bloody poof of yours first!”

Versed enough in British vernacular (due in large part to the download of pop culture received from his aforementioned ‘friend’) he turned with a sudden aggression, forgetting the luggage, storming across the room in mere moments to be in her face again. Words didn’t spring quick enough (when had they ever really, when he needed them?) and he settled instead to pulling back and punching her in the head. She went out cold instantly and as unsatisfying as it was, it was probably better than killing her. He huffed in frustration, turning back to face a wide eyed Metatron.

“I don’t recall you having this much of a temper, my friend.” Metatron led, holding the door open while Castiel pushed through with Antonia’s bags.

“I will admit that I feel - different,” he confessed as they made their way to the main hall. “But perhaps it’s because I’m tired of being dicked around.”

He threw the luggage onto the table, scattering the bags and began to pick through them idly. His eyes didn’t move from their search, but he continued. “Unless there is something else you’d like to fill me in on?”

Metatron sighed, putting his hands on the back of a chair and leaning forward. “Our Father did tell me a little something about you after he finished putting me back together.”

“You saw our him?” Castiel looked up from his task, expectantly. He supposed that made sense, given the improbability of Metatron surviving being torn apart by Amara as he had. It would have taken the strength of God to piece him back together.

“Yeah - it’s all kind of a blur really,” he started, his eyes slowly panning across the room. “The last thing I remember was Amara’s face and the exquisite pain, then I was suddenly back in heaven, in that warm glow, you know? Oh, it felt amazing. He told me he couldn’t let me go like that - not when I’d done so much to help him see his fault in leaving humanity.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He was reasonably certain it wasn’t just Metatron that had convinced him but rather, the two currently slumbering brothers, but it hardly seemed like an argument to pick. 

“Anyway, before he left he said ‘Castiel will be stronger than ever - make sure he doesn’t run from the source of that strength.’.” His words were soft. “He wasn’t kidding - you’re more frightening than normal, if you don’t mind me saying.”

The thing was, he didn’t exactly feel stronger. So fed up with all of the crap being thrown at all of them, worn down after months of living with Lucifer and before that the curse, and before that, the mark…he was tired. When he wasn’t working as fast and as hard as he could to keep someone he loved alive, in those quiet moments in between, he felt like crawling in a hole and shutting out the world. And now, he was left with a cruelly cryptic message from his father to decipher. Perfect.

“I’m going to go through these in the morning, when they wake up,” he murmured, taking his hands from the bag and bringing them back to his sides. Metatron’s words were too overwhelming to consider in his exhausted state. “Thank you for your help, again.”

Metatron looked as if he wanted to say more - perhaps he was expecting Cas to be more curious. He shrugged a little at his thanks. “Anything for Team Free Will.” And with a snap he was gone, the room blissfully silent. Castiel closed his eyes to it, taking a deep breath and feeling quite done with the world today. There was only one place he wanted to be.

* * *

 

The chair was not comfortable - it’s a means to an end. It’s allowing him to watch while Dean sleeps, the soft noise of his breath the only sound in the room. This was of course, a forbidden action - the hunter has been very explicit on his ‘personal space’ needs before and this overwatch was surely in violation of that. But here Castiel sat, not so much in defiance but in a hope that a change of tide would forgive this transgression - because he needed to watch over him now. The familiar mission of ensuring the protection of Dean was a balm to his weary heart. 

Their moment, in the wild expanse of a Wyoming highway, pressed impossibly tight against the chrome, still felt fresh in his mind. He could recall the memory in his all of his senses. Dean had spoken just a few words that felt like they contained a lifetime of meaning.  _ Not just him _ ? What wasn’t ‘just him’? He’d said they loved him, and Sam’s ramblings; perhaps they were just delirium. And yet - he seemed so different since his time with Amara. Like a tiny crack had started in the dam to his heart, and drip by drip he was showing it only to Castiel. Could he even dare to hope that Dean felt any romantic feelings towards him?

And like he could sense Castiel's thoughts he stirred, shifting a bit within the sheets and blinking open his eyes lazily. The room was dark of course - the angel was trying to keep his comfort in mind and no matter - he could see Dean in the pitch of the blackest night. Still, there was a little light from under the doorway that illuminated the room so slightly, and he saw Dean’s gaze focus on his unmoving form.

They didn’t speak - like before, words seemed unnecessary. Dean’s eyes spoke to him instead, maybe as they always had, but he didn’t have the clarity of mind to understand the language. The hunter blinked once, twice - a compliant gesture. A gentle ‘hello’. Cas sighed a little, tilting his head as if to say “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better” with a half smile. Dean smiled softly back, and shifted his body, scooting to the far side of the bed and pulled down the sheets. His hand patted the empty space on the mattress once, twice, eyes shifting from his hand to back to meet Castiel’s.

_ Was he? Was that an invitation? _

He patted a third time.

Castiel stood, shedding his trenchcoat slowly, watching Dean’s face for a reaction. With his movement, the hunter's eyes narrowed, became more focused - but didn’t look panicked or confused. Cas set his folded trencoat down, and kicked his shoes off, each landing with an earth shatteringly loud thud on either side of the chair in the silence of the room. Then he didn’t move again, for fear that in the thirty seconds he’d shed some of his clothing Dean had changed his mind.

He patted a fourth time.

Castiel walked to the bed and slipped in awkwardly, trying in desperation to not touch Dean, fearing any contact would spook the hunter and break this quiet enchantment. He rolled to his side to face him, and Dean mimicked the position, eyes meeting in the dark. From this close he could feel the heat coming off of his skin - and in his concern (though he knew Dean was actually fine) he couldn’t help his hand reaching out again, palm against his forehead to make sure he was alright. The sudden movement did spook Dean and he flinched at the contact, but then quickly relaxed with an apologetic smirk. Castiel moved his hand from his forehead to touch the outline of his hair softly, his fingers brushing against his temple. Dean’s heart was thundering, and he worried at first that he was ill again until Dean reached up and cupped Castiel’s hand within his own, sliding it down his face until it reached his lips. With an intake of breath he softly kissed the palm of his hand; the hand that had moved through hellfire to grip Dean and pull him from his torment. The hand that saved Dean’s life time and time again. The hand that linked their essences somehow through the scar under Dean’s skin. And the kiss had such bare reverence, it started a fire inside of Castiel, lit in his belly and spreading exponentially through his vessel. 

Dean moved the hand from his lips but still held it between them, interlacing their fingers together and squeezing. Castiel felt like he wanted to explode - the feeling of him so close was almost maddening. He wanted to touch him everywhere, verify with his fingertips that he was safe, solid, here,  _ real _ . But the more amped Castiel felt, the less Dean seemed. Instead the hunter breathed calmly, slowly through his nose. His eyes drooped a bit - he looked so completely content. He sighed with a small, only heard by heavenly ears moan in the back of his throat and closed his eyes completely. 

They were silent for a time, the sounds of their breath the only soundtrack of this event. Castiel would never sleep - he wanted to live here, dwell in this moment for as long as humanly possible. He knew the next day would start the chaos again. His only prayer was that this would not be sullied - their shared space, his reverent kiss, could be their own private treasure. They never need speak on it again - it never needs to happen again. Though he hoped, feverishly, that it would.

Dean’s voice was so quiet that lost in his own thoughts, Castiel almost missed it as he whispered, questioningly, “Watch over me?”

Years ago, in a hotel room far from where they laid, Castiel had made such an offer. When he’d made it, it was naive - he offered to watch over Dean’s sleep as it was his duty to watch over the righteous man. And it had been met with the same naive, anti-chick flick platitudes Dean used in most important moments in his life. It was ultimately very symbolic of the surface level attention they paid to each other in the beginning.  

This question now harked to that moment. As if Dean meant to say “I’ve changed my mind about many things, and I hope you have too.” And he struggled for the right response, landing finally on the one answer that would fit; brief, raw and truthful.

“Always.”


	5. You make it hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which these two stumble over their feelings, and Sammy pops up at the wrong place, wrong time - as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having an edit heavy kind of night so onto the next chapter! Enjoy!
> 
> Lyrics from "Suite Judy Blue Eyes" by Crosby Stills Nash & Young

_ Remember what we’ve said, and done, _

_ And felt about each other. _

_ Oh babe, have mercy. _

_ Don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now. _

_ I am not dreaming. _

_ I am yours, you are mine, _

_ And you are what you are. _

_ You make it hard.” _

 

The stars were piercingly bright in the night sky - a stark contrast to the dark without the moon to overshadow them. Castiel sat in the front of the Impala as it roared down an empty highway, no sound but the engine accompany his thoughts. There was a faint smell of ozone, something just displaced, but he didn’t focus on it. Instead he sighed, leaning back into the soft leather, turning his head slightly to observe Dean in the driver’s seat. He was quiet too, a single strong hand gripped the bottom of the steering wheel. The windows were rolled down but they weren’t traveling fast - just enough to vibrate the edge of Dean’s green flannel collar against his bare neck. The outside light made his eyes appear glossy, like he’d been crying, though he looked very content.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he started, and reached his hand across the expanse of the seat to find rest on Castiel’s thigh. “I’ve missed you.”

 

At his words, a tingle started low in Castiel’s spine - like the feeling of a rollercoaster, being at the top and taking a look at the drop below. The anticipation was the same too - he tentatively reached out, placing his hand warmly on Dean’s and giving it a squeeze.

 

“I missed you too.”

 

They rode in silence for a time like that, until Dean made a turn off the highway to a dirt road. He followed it for a while, gravel crunching under the tires until he stopped at the foot of a lake. It wasn’t large - maybe long enough to swim across, but you’d never take a boat on it. The reflection on the water was astoundingly beautiful, and with the land around them fairly bare, it was as if the stars were a blanket over them.

 

“I should feel so small.” Castiel rambled, speaking low and feeling strangely unencumbered to share his thoughts. “In the universe, I mean. It’s so boundless - even in heaven we can’t quite understand the scope of it. And you and I, Dean, are just atoms - nothing. Tiny water drops in an incomprehensible sea. But - I find that I don’t. Right now I feel like I could take on the world.” 

 

He played with the hand in his lap, sweeping his fingers lightly along his callused knuckles. “Maybe that’s just arrogance.”

 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean started, his voice calm. “I feel that way too - but only right now. Not all the time. Just, I guess - when I’m with you.” He took his hand away nervously, pulling it close and rubbing his knuckles against his other hand like his own words caused him discomfort.

 

Now that he mentioned it, this feeling did seem stronger in proximity to him. The loss of the hand from his thigh, that withdrawal of Dean’s affection, also stopped the spin of adrenaline low in his body. He wanted that feeling back. 

 

Unsure how to test his theory, he reached his arm out and placed his hand on the hunter’s thigh. The muscles under his fingertips contracted tightly but he didn’t pull away. Instead he scooted closer at the invitation, shoving his body against Castiel’s side in a swift but decisive motion. The instant their legs bumped he felt that surge again, sure and steady, pulsing inside. Dean’s expression was open and raw and they faced each other, well inside of a personal space bubble. Green eyes darted to parted lips and quite suddenly Dean’s were on his own. Castiel didn’t move for a moment, fearing that, like inside the bedroom, his quick movement would break some kind of spell and  _ wait a minute _ \- the bedroom. Lying together, their hands clasped, Dean recovering from illness…

 

This was a dream.

 

This was  _ Dean’s _ dream.

 

Castiel gripped the underside of the bucket seat and pulled away reluctantly back, the shallow sound of lips parting breaking his heart. Those dazzling green eyes opened, still inches from his face.

 

“Dean, I think you’re dreaming,” Cas explained, regret lining his voice. He didn’t want to wake from it - but he felt terrible violating Dean’s dreams like this under false pretense.

 

His eyebrows narrowed and he rolled his eyes in classic Dean exasperation. “Uh, duh. And I haven’t dreamt about you in months, so, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He smiled a bit, showing his teeth, before diving back in to devour Castiel's mouth once again.  

 

This time his lips moved a little (by their own volition, he swears) and God, it was heaven. The feeling of Dean overwhelmed his senses - a soft dart of his tongue along his lower lip, the smell of leather and warm skin wafted past his nose, the sound of Dean’s hands shifting from their laps to cup the sides of Castiel’s face, scraping against his stubble. He’d always imagined that kissing him would be nice but he didn’t expect it to feel quite so  _ natural _ .

 

And now that feeling was back and stronger, pulsing in time with Dean’s heart, which thundered against Castiel’s hands pressed to his chest. It stirred him and he felt his grace churning, healing his own body, parts he hadn’t really realized were damaged. Using the hands on his chest to grasp Dean’s cotton shirt, Castiel pulled him impossibly closer, until he was straddling his thighs, cramped together, his bent head crooked against the ceiling. Their kiss grew hotter, more frantic - Dean’s fingers were buried in Castiel’s hair, tugging deliciously. Castiel’s hands moved from Dean’s chest, traveling extended until they found anchor at his waist. His grace extended on its own, and he felt the familiar heat of healing on his finger tips, spreading to Dean’s skin.

 

Dean moaned a little into his mouth, pulling away slightly with a ragged breath. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do that,” he mumbled in mild frustration, but that small break brought Castiel back to himself enough to feel some shame for taking advantage of this dream.

 

“Dean - it’s me.” He looked up into his eyes, trying to get him to focus for a brief moment (as if it wasn’t difficult enough for him to do). “It’s not dream me - it’s actually me. I’m in your dream - I don’t know how-”

 

A look of panic spread across Dean’s features as he threw himself to the other side of the car, hitting his head briefly on the roof. He flinched at the pain, raising his hand to his head. “What the hell, Cas?” he roared, a betrayed edge to his voice. “Since when do you enter my dreams without permission?”

 

As high as he’d felt moments earlier, the loss he now felt was debilitating. He struggled to think of how this could have happened - he never would have done this on purpose. Dean’s trust is far too sacred to him to even think of it. “I - I didn’t mean to…”

 

And suddenly he was awake with a gasp, one hand wrapped warmly under Dean’s skull and the other pressed to his side, the tips of his fingers still warm from healing him. Dean blinked awake, their heads just a few inches apart, and looked up into Castiel’s eyes.

 

The moment their gaze met, Castiel retreated. He knew he’d violated Dean’s personal space - he didn’t want to continue that offense. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, Dean.” He rolled out of bed and gathered his shoes and coat. The room was a little lighter - somewhere in their sleep the door had been opened a little and was ajar. It cast a vivid light that fell on the bed highlighting the space that had been between them. Dean’s face was unreadable the brief moment he took to look at it - eyes narrowed, lips drawn. He looked equal parts furious and sad, with his fists balled in the sheets. 

 

Castiel bolted, taking a hard left away from the main room, his shame and embarrassment refueling his self loathing.  _ Absolutely careless _ \- he’d not meant to fall asleep, let alone unconsciously enter his dreams. He’d meant to give Dean exactly what he needed - if it was a warm body and a hand to hold, then that’s precisely what he’d provide, and nothing more. Years of Dean’s aversion to affection had built a defense system in Castiel - and luckily with as little social graces as he’d absorbed, he’d still learnt exactly where that line that Dean didn't like him to cross.

 

Except that everything was so different since Amara, and becoming unexpected survivors of yet another apocalypse. Dean’s attitude ran so hot and cold in the last day or so (literally and figuratively), that Castiel’s old methods of anticipating the actions of the otherwise completely predictable (in his own erratic way) hunter were tossed out the window. And now he found himself in one of the many abandoned rooms in the bunker - probably used for storage at one point, currently full of dust and old boxes of paperwork, hiding himself on the other side of a rickety bookshelf. He was angry - with himself for crossing that line, and with Dean for moving that damn line from where it had always been. 

 

He wasn't sure how long he’d been sitting and skulking  - maybe an hour? He barely heard footsteps approach before Sam was in the room. “Cas?” He called, peering his head around the bookshelf and to the angel, on the floor in his socks.

 

“Sam.” He was actually grateful to see him - it meant he was feeling better, and the younger Winchester had always been very empathetic when it came to his relationship with Dean. Probably because if there was anyone else in the world that had been a bigger victim of Dean’s mood swings, it was Sam. “I’m glad you’re well.”

 

“I heard that’s thanks to you.” He gave a half smile, putting his elbow on a stack of boxes and leaning on it. “And, apparently, Metatron?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel put his hands on the ground and pushed himself up. At least standing he felt a little less meek. “It seems my Father made a stop in heaven and pieced him back together before leaving with Amara.”

 

“He couldn’t have stuck around a little while longer to help us with our new problem?” he sighed, the weariness evident in his voice. But at least he looked healthy - he had clearly showered and changed, and the color was back in his cheeks. 

 

“It doesn’t seem so.” Cas replied. “Or to answer any of my questions. I wish I’d have gotten a little more time with him.”

 

“Is that why you’re in here?” Sam asked, tilting his head down, doing that thing with his eyebrows he does when he’s uncertain if he’s pressing Castiel too far. 

 

“No.” He looked away, shifting his eyes from the hunter to the floor.

 

“Would you being in here be at all related to Dean’s rage-eating pancakes right now?” Sam’s voice held a tinge of humor, like he was trying not to laugh. Though truthfully, Cas had seen Dean “rage-eat” on a number of occasions and it was, in fact, pretty funny.

 

He sniffed with a humorless chuckle, still not meeting his eye. “That seems likely.”

 

“Well I’ll give you the same advice I gave him - stuff your shit in a sack, because we have a job to do.” Sam said lightly, reaching a hand out and giving Castiel’s shoulder a firm shake. He glanced back up at Sam and found his trademark compassion there in his warm smile. “Though - look. It’s none of my business, ok? But Dean - he hates change, man. He’s always hated it. I think, he might be trying to change a little, and he’s mad about it. You know what I mean?”

 

“I don’t want Dean to change.” Cas confessed, feeling a little exposed. 

 

“Ah well - yeah you do.” Sam’s hand gave the shoulder a squeeze, then pulled away. “You don’t want him to go catatonic at the thought of a chick flick moment, and neither do I. Something happened after Amara - I don’t know what it was. Like a lightbulb lit up in his brain. And it was suddenly real important that he get to you as soon as possible.” 

 

Yes, something had changed in a potentially wonderful way, and he’d gone and scared Dean off by getting too close, too fast. He shook his head again, feeling hopeless. “I fear I’ve done irreparable damage to our relationship.”

 

Sam burst out with surprised laugh before catching himself, clearing his throat. “Uh, you guys have tried to kill each other. Like, actually kill each other. I think you’ll survive this. Just, be patient with him.”

 

Cas nodded and with a silent agreement they both left the comfort of his hiding place to deal with the problem at hand. It wasn’t as if he could go back and changed what had already taken place - the damage was done. All he could do now is focus on the mission and see if Dean would forgive him in time. He did take some solace in Sam’s words, and at least he knew that whatever had happened with Dean, he wasn’t the only one that sensed the shift.

* * *

 

“So, what do they want with us?” The empathy in Sam’s voice from earlier was completely absent as he stared down Antonia. Her hazel eyes were puffy but no less fierce, and it gave Castiel a chill to watch her looking at the younger Winchester with such seething hatred. 

 

“I told you - to make you answer for your crimes.” Her voice cut across the dungeon, unafraid and bold. “Shall I list them off for you? You’ve been on our radar for a long time.”

 

“Why now?” Dean’s voice came from behind, where he stood cross armed and all the more grumpy given the current day’s events. His eyes held a brief weary glance at Cas before stepping forward and past him. “What the fuck were you doing the last two apocalypses? Having a spot ‘o tea?”

 

His mocking words made a meager dent in her cold exterior, but her response was still biting. “Working our own angles. You’re not the only hunters in the world, you know.”

 

“Coulda fooled me….” Dean trailed off, his arms raised in frustration as he paced. “You guys ever think of maybe helping us instead of just showing up after we’d saved the fucking world and trying to kill us? You realize what a dick move that is?”

 

“Has it occurred to you that most of these ‘apocalypses’ are self made?” Antonia countered. “You two haphazardly and frequently give the finger to heaven and hell and everything in between, in favor of saving each other’s lives. It ever occur to you to just bloody die like you’re supposed to?!”

 

Dean huffed and turned away - the truth in her words a punch to his gut, and Cas didn’t have to see his expression to know that he hated himself for all of it. It wasn’t like him though to show outwardly that her words were getting to him, and Cas stepped forward to distract her. Maybe he just wanted to defend their decisions, as if to tell Dean, through Antonia, that he had nothing to be ashamed of.

 

“We have it on good authority that their actions were justified - and sanctioned,” he spoke, gravel in his voice, recalling the truth that if his Father hadn’t smited the Winchesters for their so called crimes, the Men of Letters hardly had cause to. “And anyway, the world is set right. What use do you have punishing them now?”

 

“Right, because creating an all powerful angel isn’t dangerous enough,” she scoffed, her eyes rolling. 

 

“We didn’t create Cas. God created the angels,” Sam explained, perhaps in a tone a bit more explanatory and less threatening than he meant to. 

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you not know of - oh.” She stopped, smiling a bit, the crust of the dried blood on her mouth chipping off a bit in tiny places. “Isn’t that interesting - not even on purpose. I assumed someone had put a spell on that poof over there. You idiots are playing with a fire you cannot even fathom...”

 

Castiel, having just enough of her cheeky attitude, moved forward again with great speed. He sensed behind him Sam trying to reach out to stop him but before he could, he had a hand pressed to her forehead, his breath coming in heavy gasps. 

 

Her smile didn’t falter however, and she peered at him through bloodshot eyes. “If you think, angel, for one second, that giving my earthly life to see these two punished for their crimes isn’t on my agenda, then be my guest. Continue your torture. Even juiced as you are, you’re still fallible - and the Men of Letters will take you down.”

 

“Angels can teleport,” he replied, pointedly, struggling to contain his swell of anger. “I can be next to  _ Liam  _ in an instant and bring him back here, to see his mother’s last breath. That’s sure to scar him for life.” Her eyes widened at his words, and there was something so completely satisfying at finally breaking the creature in front of him - even if it meant sacrificing his own morality to do it. 

 

They’d spent some time earlier going through her things, and Sam had found a hidden compartment in her suitcase that had lead them to a discovery - a picture of a blond haired boy, about four, holding up a drawing of a house and two stick figures. One figure read “Mom” and the other “Liam”, the “a” written backwards. It had given them all pause to see it, as humanizing your prisoner always does (or at least should). And they’d agreed to not bring out the “big guns” of threatening her child unless absolutely necessary. This was the breaking point Castiel found himself at with yet another veiled remark of his increased power that he couldn’t understand.

 

“You wouldn’t DARE,” she spat, pressing her forehead against his hand, challenging him. It took all of his gumption to fake mirth at her words because of course he took no pleasure at threatening a child - but he needed an angle. And he didn’t want the Winchesters to live with the guilt of making such a threat.

 

“Try me,” he smirked. “Please do. I can guarantee I’ll have him here and the deed done far before your Men show to save either one of you.”

 

There was a strange feeling he was slowly becoming aware of, a tiny voice from the back of his head that he could scarcely ignore. “That’s enough, Cas,” it said, and he recognized the voice as Dean’s.

 

“Shut up Dean,” he growled, not in the headspace to be subdued by Dean like some dumb guard dog. He was sick of sitting on the sidelines - he was tired of benching himself from his power, being scared of it. He wanted to eliminate this problem for the Winchesters, clean, plain and simple - and he absolutely could.

 

“Dean didn’t say anything…” Mary’s voice called from the other side of the room where she’d been uncharacteristically quiet and observant. He turned acutely to her, contemplating her stern expression. What? Of course he had - he glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye where the man stood stoically, his arms crossed, and shook his head.

 

“You’re hearing him in your head now?” Antonia’s voice was more frantic, and he turned his attention back to her, palming her skull in a way that he hoped indicated he was strong enough to crush it. “Look, I’ll tell you what’s happening only - you leave my son out of this.”

 

Seemed an easy deal to accept - Castiel had no interest in hurting Liam and every interest in understanding why he was suddenly hearing the hunter’s voice in his head, but the decision was made for him as Dean walked over and punched the woman unconscious once again.

 

“You’re going to give her brain damage, Dean,” Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Tired of hearing her speak,” he grumbled, hastening half a glance at Castiel before walking away. “Anyway, we weren’t getting anywhere with Cas harassing her.”

 

“I was making progress,” Castiel growled, feeling incredibly impotent from Dean’s abrupt assertion of his dominance in the proceedings.

 

“No you weren’t,” Dean bit back. “She was in your head.”

 

“And apparently, so were you,” Mary observed candidly, venturing a bit more inside. She placed her hands on either side of her hips, her eyes falling on Castiel, seeming concerned but not angry with him. “That’s the second time, Cas. Any idea what’s happening?”

 

Castiel thought back to the only other times he’d heard voices in his head - and none of them seemed to fit. No sign of leviathans, he felt reasonably sane, and there were no other angels possessing his vessel. Besides, it wasn’t as if it was a random voice - it was only Dean he was hearing. Somehow different and more clearer than just a prayer. And seemingly only during heightened moments of Castiel’s anger. When he felt like he could smite the world if only to spare Dean any further pain. 

 

“No.” He was at at a loss, his usually encyclopedic brain coming up short with any explanation as to why he’d be feeling Dean so - intimately. And suddenly he wanted out - out of the room, out of the bunker, far from this madness, if only to clear his head.

 

“I require - air.” He flew himself quite suddenly away, landing deftly in a patch of meadow in the woods about a mile from the bunker. He could hardly care about the mess he left and anyway, they could take care of themselves.

 

The serenity of the area soothed him swiftly - being lost in nature tends to have that effect. The air was dry - it held a smell that seemed to indicate that the day was only going to become hotter. He took a deeper breath and smelled oak, and something fresher, like new grass. A sparrow in midflight made a sharp bleet as it passed him, landing on a nearby tree. The wind swelled around him, moving his trenchcoat slightly around his knees. He stood and cataloged each sound, each movement, each smell, registering and filing away, the monotony of the motion easing his troubled thoughts. It was an action he’d used to spend all of his time doing, before he joined the madness of Team Free Will. And he missed it sometimes, the simplicity of being a warrior of God, taking the guesswork out of existence. 

 

He couldn’t have been out by himself for very long before he heard Dean’s voice again, pointed and direct, somewhere in his head. “Cas? If you can hear me, meet me in the garage.”

 

As odd as hearing Dean was now audible in his thoughts as if he was standing right next to him, he found that he couldn’t resist his request. Sighing, he left his serenity to the concrete carport, appearing a foot behind the hunter who was leaning against the Impala.

 

“Hello Dean.” The familiar greeting passed his lips despite the fact that there was a good portion of him still incensed with Dean from earlier and feeling distinctly unfriendly.

 

Dean turned sharply, clearly jolted by his sudden presence and his shock faded to grimace. “I swear I’m going to put a damn bell on you. One of these days.”

 

“Is that why you called me here?” Cas inquired dryly. “Or do you have a point?”

 

“I - I wasn’t sure if you were going to hear me,” Dean replied, somewhat sheepish. 

 

“I always hear you Dean. I just seem to now hear you stronger, louder than before.” Castiel bit back, not sure why he was arguing with him but feeling strangely mollified in doing so. 

 

“Well I’m not trying to shout or anything!” Dean raised his voice in unconscious contradiction to his statement, but his meaning was clear enough.

 

They stood, puffing out their chests at each other like they intended to go to blows. Good. Maybe it would feel good to hit Dean across his smug face. Show him that Castiel wasn’t anyone’s pet and least of all his. He was just as good at interrogating Antonia and further, had several thousand years more experience. 

 

“I almost had her,” he growled, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You’re too emotional about this,” he replied carefully. “Its like you have something to prove, Cas. What the fuck has gotten into you?”

 

“I- arrrgh!” Castiel once again found himself without the right way to phrase his feelings, and he growled in frustration. “Something is different about my grace and it’s -”

 

“Scary,” Dean finished honestly, his ire backing down and his shoulders slumping. “It’s like you’ve got your smiting dialed up to eleven, man. It isn’t like you.”

 

“I've hit my limit.” he huffed and looked away, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m done feeling like a ‘baby in a trenchcoat’. Like you and Sam have to take care of me all the time. First it was being human - then I had this weak stolen grace - then I was cursed - then Lucifer -” he stopped himself, his voice a wreck. “I was a warrior of God, Dean. I used to be more than this.”

 

“I know.” He spoke the words softly, and he felt Dean’s hand reach out for him, landing on his bicep. “You’ve always had that power though, well I mean, you know what I mean - why are you pushing it now?”

 

“I haven’t - I just got it back. I don’t know.” He pulled away, not wanting to feel Dean’s warm fingertips, like an extension of his platitudes. “I’ve felt so powerless for so long - Now that I’ve gotten it back I just want to fix this. For Sam. For your mother. For you.”

 

“This isn’t your fight.” Dean’s voice was more resolute now, and he heard rather than saw him take a step closer. “They’re after us - Sam and me. For our crimes.”

 

“Crimes to which I was a willing accomplice” he grunted, finally turning to meet Dean’s eyes again. There was an intensity to his gaze, and Dean seemed to be listening to Cas with his entire body. “I’m not innocent here, and now I have the power to make it go away. Make her go away.”

 

Dean understood what he was saying - he could kill this woman. He could kill all of these people, all of the men that were coming after her for them. He could even kill tiny Liam, sitting somewhere in the UK, probably drawing pictures of his mum. He could do that and he would do that, just to give the Winchesters a fucking  _ break _ . Castiel’s powerful fury scared the hell out of him.

 

“Yes, you could,” Dean replied, his voice solid. “But at what cost, Cas? Your soul? You couldn’t live with that.”

 

“I would,” he grumbled, because it was the truth. “To take this away from you - I would.”

 

Dean’s eyes softened then, and he closed them with a sigh. He lifted his arm again only this time, he found Castiel’s hand with his own, opening his eyes, his expression pained. “I don’t want that for you.”

 

They stood, each offering a hand to meet its match, not grasping tightly, not holding too softly, just with a steady presence. Castiel’s heartbeat sped, looking up at Dean then, not sure what to say, but flattered beyond measure at this man’s desire to keep him from mental duress. He truly didn’t want Castiel to feel the pain of murdering these people, even if it meant their own safety. And although he suspected that Dean had always had a vested interest in Castiel’s morality, the confirmation of it now filled him with warmth.

 

“I’m - I’m sorry, about this morning.” Dean’s expression changed from raw emotion, to dodging his gaze. “I’m an asshole, Cas. You knew that.”

 

“It was me that was the ass,” he clarified, echoing Dean’s gentle shift in tone. He gave the callused hand in his own a squeeze. “I never meant to violate your dreams. It was purely by accident I found myself there, I assure you. I didn’t mean to make you feel - uncomfortable.”

 

Dean smirked, but didn’t look back up. “You didn’t seem uncomfortable.”

 

“My own comfort is hardly my concern.” Castiel reached forward boldly with his unheld hand, and put a finger to Dean’s chin, tipping it back to face him. His green eyes were shadowed, like he wanted to bolt from the room. “There is nothing more important to me than your trust and friendship, Dean.”

 

_ Like I fucking deserve this devotion from him…. _ Cas heard Dean’s voice again, though his lips didn’t move. He recognized this was probably a private thought he hadn’t meant to transmit but the insinuation of Dean’s self degradation incensed him enough to respond to it.

 

“When will you get it through your head that you’re worth it?” His voice was sharp and it only took Dean a moment to register that his inner thoughts had been heard. “Damnit, Dean. If I have to, I will spend the rest of my life convincing you that you’re more than worthy of devotion, of love. Don’t test me.”

 

The words tumbled out of him before he could register the many different ways they could be interpreted. He couldn’t say for sure if he regretted them - as much as he loathed pushing Dean to his limits of acceptable chick-flick level moments, he hated even more the idea that the man would think himself unworthy of anything so due to him as love. 

 

Dean’s eyes searched his face nervously again, like the last time they found themselves next to the Impala. His tongue darted out quickly to lick at his dry lips, and Castiel’s steel blue gaze betrayed him as he stole a glance at them. 

 

“Cas, I -” he started, and the angel could feel their hearts racing together in their enclosed palms, like each was trying to see who could reach a finish line first. Dean’s lips stopped moving and drew inward with his quiet breath. And then he leaned forward, so tentatively slow, that Castiel could swear that civilizations were born, lived and died in those eons as he waited more patiently than he’d done for anything in his life, for those lips to meet his own. This had to be Dean's choice. 

 

And when they did, he could swear time itself stopped. The kiss was so impossibly soft, with a caged feeling that rested just behind it, as Dean’s lips were working hard to contain a tidal wave. Castiel took a sudden unnecessary breath, feeling at once like he needed to memorize this moment and frightened that it would be over before he could. 

 

_ God damnit - I’m going to screw this up so bad. Fuck - Cas _ …. The angel could hear that voice inside again and rather than pull away to reassure him, he drew closer, taking the hunters face in his hands, willing his feelings forward, hoping he could hear his own projected inner thoughts. 

 

_ I want this. I need you, Dean. Please don’t run from me. _

 

Dean broke apart suddenly with a gasp, his eyes widening and his mouth agape. There was every indication that his communication had worked, but to be sure, Castiel concentrated and sent another message. 

 

_ Are you hearing me? _

 

Dean slowly nodded his head in disbelief, his arms hands still on the angel's shoulders. This hardly made any sense - even if he could explain away why they were hearing each other, why had that started now?

 

And that was the opportune moment that Sam found them in, bursting through the door to the garage with a bang. They flew apart from each other quickly, caught, but not before Sam got an eyeful. He politely cleared his throat, and jerked his thumb behind his shoulder.

  
“Uh, Mom made lunch.” He bit back a smile, and practically ran from the room. Dean took off without another word, leaving Castiel breathless and disheveled in his wake.


	6. Lose Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many people show up to kill the Winchesters, and we discover what Metatron has been hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that I'll ever tire of Destiel - there are so many ways to get them together. Here's another one, and I like it.
> 
> Song is "I need you to turn to" by Elton John, from his first album which and it's just beautiful. Go listen :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ff47pKqxChI

 

_ “And I wonder sometimes, and I know I’m unkind, _

_ But I need you to turn to when I act so blind. _

_ And I need you to turn to when I lose control. _

_ You’re my guardian angel who keeps out the cold.” _

 

“That took longer than I expected.” Metatron’s sardonic voice rang from the other side of a turned office chair, reminding Castiel of a Bond villain. He half-expected him to turn around petting a white cat his lap. Instead when he spun it was with a sly smile, lips stained bright red from a nearly finished smoothie, the last drops of which sucked through a straw echoed in the large office. 

 

“Whats happening to me?” Castiel snapped, the bulk of his patience left somewhere in the bunker with the Winchesters. He’d excused himself fairly fast - his eyes hardly meeting Dean’s before disappearing as Mary served a homemade pizza. Maybe he should have felt guilty for leaving like that - he didn’t want Dean to think he was ashamed of what had happened. Quite the opposite - he ran to Heaven to get answers because he was terrified that what was happening to him might jeopardize what little happiness they had. 

 

Currently his mind was a whirl, worrying that the deeper in love he fell with Dean, the more deranged and unhinged he would become - he couldn’t seem to control his rage like he’d done for millennia. Even now he fought the urge to reach across the desk, to effortlessly burn Metatron’s skull apart from the inside out.

 

The other angel, ever interested in self-preservation, was again putting up his hands as if to surrender himself to the angelic storm raging across from him. “I’ll admit, it’s pretty unheard of Castiel. But if you just sit down, I think you’ll come to see the logic of it. It’s actually quite romantic….”

 

“Talk,” he barked, no quarter given in his voice. He didn’t sit down either - it felt better to stand.

 

“Alright - alright….” Metatron folded his arms in front of him and pushed himself back in the chair a bit, looking Castiel over. “You know what praying does for us, right? With every person that prays directly to an angel, there is an offering of faith in that prayer. Faith is what drives us, it feeds us. We can live without it, but it’s a power boost, to be sure.”

 

“Get to the point.” 

 

“My point,” Metatron paused, trying for dramatic effect, quickly realizing his theatrics were lost on Castiel. “My point is that - when you love someone, I mean truly, unconditionally, irreversibly love them, your faith in that person is boundless. It’s God’s perfect design. Love is absolutely perfect.”

 

Castiel felt his ire begin to dissipate. Metatron offered an interesting theory, but he failed to see how it applied here.

 

“What God didn’t count on, in His infinite wisdom, was a human falling in love with an angel.” He paused again, this time to try to feel out the other angel’s mood, who stood expressionless. “Castiel, the deeper Dean Winchester falls in love with you - the more powerful you will become.”

 

It was as if all at once, everything and nothing made sense. He could follow the scribe’s logic in academic terms -it would be a completely unprecedented case, but the theory of it rang true - if only on paper. But there was a pretty obvious hitch in his idea.

 

“Dean isn’t in love with me,” Castiel answered, like he was pointing out the glaring flaw in the rationale, eager to move onto the next hypothesis. He was almost embarrassed to have to be the one to state what a ridiculous notion it was.

 

“You’re hearing each other, aren’t you?” Metatron stood suddenly, moving across the room towards Castiel with almost giddy excitement. “You know there are few angels that can do that. And certainly no humans.”

 

“There is a fallacy in your reasoning!” he bit back, feeling very crowded by the other angel’s movements. But was there a truth to it? He had to consider the possibility - if it was true, everything - from the superpowered healing, to hearing his voice, to what Antonia was saying - it fell carefully into place. 

 

But that would mean first he’d have to suspend his own self-loathing to entertain the idea that this man he’d given up everything for might feel the same way he did. 

 

“Denial won’t help this situation, Castiel.” Metatron was now in front of him, his features lit. He always had been easily overstimulated by new phenomenon and Castiel suddenly got the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach like he and Dean were test subjects to him. It deftly put him back in the mood to crush his skull again.

 

“This isn’t denial,” he sussed out, pulling himself back from the scribe pointedly. “Even if it were true, that means that this will only get worse for me. Harder to control.”

 

“Seems like…” Metatron was in his bubble again, eyes darting all over Castiel’s features like he was searching for some hidden spark. Had God told him more than what he was revealing?

 

“Cas!” Dean’s voice cried in his head, and he straightened up so sharply and unexpectedly that Metatron put his hand out to defend himself, pulling back a few steps, assuming he was going to be hit. But now Cas had bigger problems than the obnoxiously curious angel.

 

“I have to go.” And in an instant he was back in the bunker, standing in the war room. There was a tremendous banging coming from the direction of the front door and he turned to see Sam and Mary with their backs against it in an attempt to hold it closed. Mary had pulled her hair into a high bun, and even from a distance he could see the sweat pouring off of both of them in their struggle. He really hadn’t been gone that long...

 

“Cas!” Sam called down, panic in his voice. “Help us!”

 

He snapped himself to the door, squeezing his body against it between Mary and Sam with a groan. The force pressing against them wasn't brute human strength - someone was trying to use magic as a barrage. It wailed on the door, each pound with enough force to make the three of them bounce forward just a hair, heels digging into the metal grate of the landing.

 

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel grunted, shoving his shoulder deeper into the door. 

 

“Trying to find a spell to stop this!” Sam yelled back, his teeth clenched against another blow. “We were eating and all of the sudden there was this pounding. We don’t know what’s on the other side!”

 

Mary cried out suddenly, having not anticipated how hard the last push would be and the metal of the door slammed into her forehead. Blood dripped from the cut slowly, trailing down her frown lines and the slope of her nose. With a shakily raised hand Castiel brought two fingers to her forehead and their eyes met as he healed her wound. Her eyes were wild - she was scared - but she smirked at him as the blood faded away, as if everything was going to be fine. It was eerie how much the brothers were like her regardless of how much she’d missed in their lives.

 

All of a sudden the pounding stopped. The silence that filled the room was almost menacing, and the three of them slowly pulled their bodies away from the door, Sam’s hands still stretched out towards it like he was ready to slam against it again at a moment’s notice. From behind them they heard Dean’s shoes run into the room, nearly crashing his body into the table with his speed. 

 

“I think I-” He stopped short, breathless, looking up at their frozen faces. “What happened? Did we win?”

 

“I think, they stopped?” Mary’s voice cut the room, and she took a deep breath. 

 

The noise from outside started low - first a murmur, then another. Then another, angry, threatening. A call out, slightly panicked voice - he only caught a few words - “dammit”, “this isn’t-” “angel”, coming in the most clear - then the screams began. He looked up at Sam, their eyes wide, as the shrieks increased, different pitches but recognizable instantly as terror filled.

 

Perhaps it was a byproduct of working together for the last eight years, but neither had to speak to silently agree that whatever was happening on the other side of that door - they needed to help people in trouble. They pulled open the door together.

 

“What do you think-?! Dammit, Sammy!” Dean hollered and charged up the stairs, dropping the book with a thud. 

 

The scene before them was nothing short of straight out of a horror film. The carnage was horrendous; strewn across the area outside of the bunker were roughly a half-dozen bodies in various states of dismemberment. A man missing his legs and a hand was hanging by his belt in a tree, wailing at the top of his lungs. Another, crawling towards a car on his belly, a red gash up his spine trailing blood in the dirt. A woman bent in a way that was not humanly possible over the side of parked rental Jeep Wrangler and very still. And in the center of it all, covered in blood, smiling, and somehow freshly vesseled in his old meat suit - was Lucifer.

 

Castiel’s blood ran cold as he took full view of his brother. Instinctively he put his hands out on either side of him, shielding Sam and Mary. Lucifer's dark eyes turned away from the struggling, crawling man to Castiel, and he gave a light chuckle. 

 

“It’s so weird seeing your mug from the other side again!” He gave Castiel a once over, moving his bloody hands erratically between the two of them. “Oh, hey Sam,” he added, throwing a lewd wink at the man standing behind him. He put his hands on his hip - a gesture that turned Castiel’s stomach with vague muscle memory, and called out: “Guess who's ba-ack!”

 

From the other side of the Jeep Wrangler three people came marching, clearly not by their own volition and each bound at the wrist with what looked long brown strands of hair. A man in his late fifties, pale and hefty, was first, followed by another blond woman (looking distinctly like Antonia - possibly related to her?) and finally a shorter Indian woman, who’s nearly scalped head solved the mystery of where the hair had come from. From over his left shoulder Castiel heard Mary gag.

 

_ Cas - if you can hear me - I’m here. I’m hiding. He doesn’t know I’m alive, maybe we can use that to our advantage.  _ Dean’s voice came through their channel and oddly enough, he almost could feel his tension. It was hard to discern from his own, but there was a tightly coiled feeling that accompanied his words.

 

_ He doesn’t know you're dead either, _ he answered.  _ He was - or we thought he was - killed before you tried to blow yourself up. _

 

_ Well fuck, Cas. Got any bright ideas? _

 

_ Can you do a banishing sigil?  _ Castiel suggested as Lucifer walked a circle around his prey, carefully plucking at their clothing. They jumped at his touch - who were these people anyway? Men of Letters? Had Antonia’s fabled backup finally reached them?

 

_ That would banish you too, idiot, _ Dean chided.

 

_ I know. But it might buy us some time. _

 

“And who might this lovely woman be?” Lucifer strode forward, having grown disinterested in the three strangers who were frozen in place and turned to Mary with a foxy grin. Her feet shifted behind Castiel’s still outstretched hand, like she was preparing for a fight. She’s such a spitfire, she probably was.

 

Lucifer scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh silly me, I’d know that face anywhere! This is the widow Winchester, John’s old lady. How are you, Mary?” He was standing in front of her now and Castiel moved so he was squarely in between them, eyes narrowed.

 

“Back off, Lucifer.” 

 

“Oh little brother, I’m not here for her. I’m not even here for Sammy.” He pouted and made a kissy face at the younger Winchester who grimaced. “I’m looking for who's behind,” his voice raised over the angel's shoulder, “door number one!”

 

There wasn't any movement - because Dean was likely still working on the sigil. Lucifer tilted his head to the side to look around Castiel and shrugged. “Yooo hooo! Deanooooo….”

 

_ Almost done, Cas _ .

 

“Fine, fine. I do hate the hard way, but since you forced my hand...” Castiel could barely register what happened before Lucifer’s fist was in the side of his head, knocking him clear across the front of the bunker and landing with a thud against a cropping of trees. He must have cried out in pain, because Dean was suddenly in his mind, yelling his name.

 

His vision clouded, his face was in the dirt, but the ringing he heard in his ears didn’t hide what he heard next - Mary’s scream, piercing through the woods like a knife. It was followed by commotion, scuffle - Dean and Sam’s voices were heard next, cursing and grunting, blow by blow as they tag teamed Lucifer with whatever supernatural means they had - which knowing them still wasn’t enough to take down his supercharged and annoyingly resurrected brother.

 

He couldn’t seem to get back upright, trying to stand and failing again, his head feeling heavier by the moment. Even the adrenaline through his vessel wasn’t enough to keep his eyes open, and he slowly slumped against the tree. If he was about to pass out from one punch, their odds did not look good.

 

“Cas!” He could hear Dean’s worried voice call out, then a grunt as he was hit with something blunt - likely another fist. A terrible, desperate idea popped into Castiel’s flickering mind, one he tried to dissuade himself from instantly. The thought of confirming Metatron’s theory like this - he’d never forgive himself for taking advantage of Dean, but they were quite shortly running out of options...

 

_ Dean - I’m sorry - listen - just trust me on this.  _ He struggled to get the thoughts coherently sent, as his mind still teetered towards unconsciousness. Gathering what strength he had, he asked: _ Do you - love me? _

 

The charged panic coming in waves off of the hunter was unmistakeable. In those long seconds before he responded, he heard Sam yell for his mother to move - and he was able to lift his head long enough to see her limping towards him, a large bloody stain covering her right thigh. 

 

_ Is this a goodbye speech? Damnit Cas, get up! No one is dying today! _

_ I - can’t _ …. He sucked in air as Mary reached him, dropping into a crouch in front of his prostrate form. She grabbed at the small handgun still in her waistband, taking out the clip sharply and counting the bullets under her breath. Whether she was counting them for Lucifer or for themselves if the fight became any more desolate - he wasn’t sure.

 

_ Dean _ ….he started again, then gathering what little strength he could, brought his head up enough to find his gaze, some thirty yards away. He could see Sam, knocked out and flat on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth and nose. Thankfully, he could also see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Lucifer wouldn’t kill Sam - he’d never destroy his true vessel, it would be a waste. And he’d been inside the man’s head enough to know that he had a soft spot for the younger hunter. But with Dean, he held no such favor.

 

And now the two faced one another; each with a blade (my some miracle, Dean’s was angelic) and circling each other. Dean had various cuts, but none so serious as his cheekbone, nearly completely torn to shreds from a fist, and bleeding dangerously. Lucifer hardly had a scratch on him. It should have been a somewhat fair fight - except it had a distinct ring of a lion cornering a tiny mouse. He was toying with Dean, waiting for the right moment.

 

Dean’s sharp eyes darted behind Lucifer at Castiel for a split second but that was all the opening he needed - Lucifer didn’t have to turn to know he was watching, and he could see the curve of his jaw into a grin as he faced Dean. 

 

“Glad you’re awake brother, I want you to watch this.” He faked Dean out by going right, then surprised him by shoving his blade into the left side of Dean’s stomach and up to the start of his ribs.

 

For the second time that day, time stopped. For the second time that day Castiel breathed in a moment he’d never in his existence be able to erase from his memory. The terrified and angry green eyes bulged, tears springing forth unencumbered. His mouth went agape and a strangled cry forced its way past his dry lips. He’d never get used to seeing Dean die. Not if he saw it a thousand times. And he had.

 

“No!” Mary screamed but Cas was moving past her, his legs like iron weights as he stumbled across the space to where Dean was now on his knees, hands pressing against the wound as blood gushed through his closed fingers. Lucifer was saying something else but it sounded like static. All he could see was that face, that beautiful, freckled face. That face that held a thousand expressions and just a few, a precious few, reserved for him alone. That face he kept coming back to, time and time again. And that face that now looked into Castiel’s eyes, without shame, without hesitation, and spoke out loud in a voice that cracked:

 

“I love you.”

 

The tingling started low in his spine again. Only this time, it spurned on itself, exponentially stronger in a fraction of the time. Gone was the lead weight of unconsciousness threatening to take over. He felt his grace filling him like a balloon, his vision unclouded, his whole body now an electric live wire. The fury now seemed to peak, and he moved like a man possessed as Lucifer approached him, shoving him away with every ounce of his strength.

 

Dully he was aware that his brother exploded backwards with a yelp, landing about fifty yards away. But he could only see Dean, his eyes wide and frightened, and he fell to his knees beside him, catching Dean before he dropped to the ground. His fingers turned a bright white and Dean trembled as they healed his wounds - all of them, down to his clogged arteries and cavities, without so much as a thought from Castiel.

 

In fact at this point, he was completely on autopilot, his brain calmly setting forth a series of tasks to accomplish, and in order: Heal Dean. Heal Sam. Heal Mary. Kill Lucifer. Kill Men of Letters. Kill Antonia. 

 

Seeing that Dean was alive (albeit, in complete shock) he stood mechanically, walking to Sam’s side and touching his fingers to his forehead. He convulsed as he woke, taking a quick breath, inhaling primarily dirt. Coughing he looked up at Castiel, eyes watering, his expression a mixture of confusion and relief. Cas blinked an acknowledgement, his vessel still humming with energy, and took off to where Mary had limped back to Dean, frantically feeling his stomach through blood soaked flannel. Tears flowed down her face but she was steady, biting her lip as Dean reassured her he was fine.

 

He reached out and touched her too as they both suddenly recoiled to the side. Lucifer, having regained consciousness, had charged the trio at full speed, slamming his full body against Castiel who noticed him, sure. He knew he was there. It just wasn’t Lucifer’s turn. Mary was higher on the list.

 

“I’ll deal with you in a moment,” he said calmly, and shoved him again, hearing a satisfying thunk a moment later with what he assumed was his head against the side of the bunker.

 

Mary’s eyes were terrified as he approached her again, like she was actually scared of what he might do. But it was Dean he was looking at as he placed two fingers on her bare shoulder through her ripped shirt, fixing the abrasions across her thighs.

 

“Are you well, Dean?” he asked plainly, and the hunter nodded with some hesitation, worry highlighting the crows feet around his eyes.

 

“Thanks Cas, for saving the day but - what’s going on with you?” He reached out and placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder gingerly. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern - but there was nothing to be concerned about. He was going to fix everything for Dean right now.

 

“It’s your love.” Castiel answered without emotion, his head tilting to the side. “Your love and faith in me charges me up, like a battery. We can discuss it later - I have to kill Lucifer now.”

 

“Woa, woa, what?” Dean asked, his face cringing as he grabbed the shoulder tighter. From behind they heard a grunt of frustration, turning to see Sam with his arms in the air in the direction he’d thrown the archangel.

 

“Fucking coward.” Sam cursed. “He’s gone!”

 

But the rage was not. Time to move onto the next checkbox on his list. 

 

“Alright, I’ll kill the Men of Letters next,” he said, and started to turn towards the three now crouched figures beside the Jeep before both of Dean’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him tightly into his chest.

 

“Cas. STOP.” He yelled next to his head, his voice wrecked. “Just stop. I’m sorry. Please - I don’t know what I did but - you don’t need to kill anyone.”

 

His face was uncomfortably pressed into Dean’s shoulder but the smell was pleasant. He unconsciously breathed in, the musk of sweat and the iron of blood nearly overshadowing the warm, natural scent of him. Cas vaguely registered Dean’s voice in his head, soft and gentle, as it began to calm the frenzied storm that had overtaken his mind, word by rare word.

 

_ Cas - you’re scaring the shit out of me. Let it go man - please. It’s done. Just chill the fuck out. I’ll - fuck. I’ll stop - loving you. I can try. If I’m causing this- _

 

Cas jerked in his embrace and found that it was hard to pull away, both from the tightness of Dean’s grasp and the weakness he began to feel in his vessel. He took a breath again, closing his eyes to concentrate on letting the feel of Dean’s lean form pressed against him drown out the temper. His body came off of the high and he slumped into Dean's arms. The absence of the rage sucked more of strength than he intended.

 

_ I think - it's dissipating -this feeling. Please don’t stop... _

 

Dean loosened his grip slightly as he heard Cas. He looked down into Castiel’s lidded eyes and sighed - apparently what he found there gave him some relief. Grimacing, he tilted his head so he’d still be his field of vision as the angel began to look away, ashamed.

 

“Damnit, we got some shit to hammer out,” he started, a rare, small smile creeping on his lips as Cas chanced a glance at him. “But are you back to normal? Ground control to Cas?”

 

“I don’t think I’d ever classify myself as normal, Dean,” he huffed but nodded, feeling drained. “But I do believe the rage has subsided. I’m- I’m so sorry…”

 

“Stop,” Dean said again, mirroring his earlier request but with a great deal more softness. There was a deep well of emotion now coming off of him - feelings of uncertainty, sure, but a sense of closure. As if the last few minutes had put a period at the end of a now finished sentence. 

 

_ Am I - am I hurting you? Right now? _ Dean’s voice was edged in worry, and it mirrored his eyes. 

 

_ No. _ Castiel took a breath to register what was going on inside of him. He could feel affection from Dean like gentle lapping waves at his grace but it didn’t fuel his rage, it soothed the aching parts of him. More than anything he found that he wanted to sleep, wrapped up in this warm feeling from Dean. As complicated of a notion as that sounded, he couldn’t help but answer truthfully.  _ I just want to take a nap with you. _

 

Dean’s surprised (and relieved) laugh rang out in response, shattering the silence of the moment and startlingly inappropriate as they found themselves surrounded by three bloodied prisoners and half a dozen corpses. He coughed to stifle it, but his face was much brighter, and he let go of Castiel finally, his hands tracing invisible paths down Castiel’s arms as he moved away.

 

Broken out of their little world he now noticed they were flanked by Sam and Mary, their arms wrapped around each other as if to hold the other up, and staring at the scene with regard. Seeing their movement out of the corner of his eye Dean shot his head up, then around, surveying the damage.

 

“Cas - you have any mojo left for these poor folks?” He smiled, and Castiel felt affection spike through him, tingling his senses and feeling his power meter effectively increase. Perhaps he’d been wrong before - Dean’s love and faith strengthened him, but not necessarily in a negative way. It just filled him with an overflow of grace, allowing rage, or ambivalence - whatever emotion he was feeling - to be magnified exponentially. Now he understood Metatron’s equal parts hesitation and fascination - he found himself feeling that as well. Though not nearly as strongly as the utter joy he felt knowing Dean loved him.

 

He walked over to the three people, still huddled together like trampled animals against the Jeep. They peered at him uneasily, and the woman who most looked like Antonia finally spoke.

 

“We just want my sister back.” Her voice was loud, Cockneyed and it cracked with emotion. He did admire how brave she was in this moment, speaking up for the other two, not sure if she was going to die. Feeling a slightly condescending sense of benevolence (as angels are wont to do), he reached forward and healed her first. She blinked at him as he did it and stood quite suddenly as he was finished, surprise aging her otherwise youthful features.

  
“You’ll find Antonia inside. Mostly unharmed,” he clarified, the term relative given their line of work. And then he proceeded to lay hands on the other two People of Letters, continuing. “And I think it’s past time for us to have a long talk.”


	7. In your eyes, I am complete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to a conclusion, which naturally is accompanied with smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank those that have read this story - this was an interesting challenge for me, to write through my writers block, and write as much as I could. Thank you especially to those that have commented, and most of all to my beta Rosie_Berber for putting up with this story and helping me tremendously. Now - onto the smut!
> 
> Song from "In your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel - and so deliciously Destiel.

 

_ Love, _

_ I get so lost, sometimes _

_ Days pass - and this emptiness fills my heart. _

_ When I want to run away, I drive off in my car _

_ But whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are. _

 

_ Love, _

_ I don’t like to see so much pain. _

_ So much wasted - and this moment keeps slipping away. _

_ I get so tired working so hard for our survival. _

_ I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive. _

 

The war room had seldom seen such a crowd, at least since the Winchesters had moved in. One might consider it a party, except that the tension was so thick you could cut it with the First Blade. Cas had healed and/or brought back to life all of the Men of Letters that had been caught in Lucifer’s unfortunate (and ill-timed) wrath. Then he’d healed Antonia (or Toni, as the rest were calling her) without too many words, as to speak to her might have rekindled his anger with her attack on the brothers in the first place. She’d said a snide “Thank you” before wrapping her arms around her sobbing sister stoically.

 

And now they all sat, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, which was quite a feat for fourteen angry people. Their guests were fidgety, and none of them really met Castiel’s eye - he knew they were afraid of him. Good. He was more than a little finished fighting for the day - the dusk of evening had fallen as they’d trundled off inside about an hour earlier. Finally Mary coughed, the brothers shifted, and Dean leaned forward, first raising an eyebrow at Sam and then turning to face their company.

 

“So,” he frowned and shrugged, with a lightness that he undoubtedly was trying to interject into an otherwise strained situation. “I think the term we’re all looking for here is, mutually assured destruction.”

 

Castiel tried not to turn incredulously to the hunter (at the risk of undermining him) but was quite surprised at the direction of the vague threat.

 

The reaction was immediate - Toni stood instantly, her hands slamming down on the mapped table and nearly everyone jumped - at least ones that looked like they spent most of their time in an office. The pale man from earlier didn't, and neither did the Winchesters. The rest scowled and started whispering amongst themselves quietly, their faces twisted with anger or panic. Finally the man reached across at the huffing Toni, placing his wide hand on hers gently. 

 

“Toni…”

 

“No!” she argued, her voice rising as she curled her fingers into the wood. “I will not stand here while these bloody tossers threaten us with their pet angel! They have to answer for their crimes!”

 

_ Cas - move - like you’re going to hit her. _ Dean’s voice whispered to him suddenly.

 

Castiel started to move quickly towards Toni like he was incensed by her insult, though not a fraction of how fast he could move when needed, and Dean reached out, grabbing his shoulders as if to hold him back. The onlookers reeled, trying to disguise the fact that under the table they were reaching for each other. His bluff was effective enough though, as Toni sank back herself just a hair. 

 

“Hey - Cas chill!” Dean spoke gruffly, and you’d have to know him as well as Cas and Sam did to pick up the hint of amusement in his voice. So he was treating Castiel a bit like a guard dog, huh? It was an effective play, given what they’d seen him do earlier - they didn’t know his abilities were completely new to Team Free Will and they somewhat concerned of how to regulate them. Say what you want about Dean’s shoot first and ask questions general approach to life - but age has brought some wisdom to his diplomacy, and Cas was starting to see where this was headed. Dean gave Castiel’s shoulders a squeeze as he let go, setting his hands back on the table.

 

“And how many times have they saved the world, huh?” Mary stood suddenly, and it was an interesting site - the table was flanked with large, strong men and here were two petite, blond young women ready to tear each other’s head off for their cause. Castiel found himself in awe of Mary as she carried on. “Do you have that written in your log book? Or how many vamps, how many ghouls, ghosts, demons - where’s that number? When do my son’s get credit for the lives they’ve saved?”

 

“And how many lives did they have to sacrifice to get you back, Mary Winchester?” Toni spat, and there it was - Dean’s line in the sand. Cas didn’t have to be oddly linked with the hunter to know it had been crossed, and Sam’s too.

 

“That’s enough!” Sam barked, and there was complete silence. He took a breath before continuing. “My brother and I did not sacrifice anything to get back our mother - she was a gift from God’s sister.”

 

“You guys know God, right?” Dean bit, his lips in a snarl. “The guy that we just saved? That we literally just Dr Phil’d back together with his sister so that the world could keep spinning?” He paused, taking a breath and trying to calm himself down, knowing that overreacting would only very likely lead to violence. With a slow, patient blink, he continued. “Look, we ain’t saints. Never claimed to be. And we’ve made mistakes, and we’ve taken our licks. But the truth of it is, if it weren’t for us, all of you would be dead right now, and you God damned know it.” He finished and looked straight at Toni, next words menacing. “So we better fucking compromise.”

 

And so it was that the real conversation started - Toni sat and the rounder, pale man (Phillip, as he’d later introduced himself) took the charge. It wasn’t without its snaps from either side, and a few hurtful words (it didn’t seem necessary to bring up Sam’s former addiction to demon blood, but Mary had reached out with a sigh and ran her fingers through the hair at his nape, and that seemed to soothe him) but soon they came to a decision.

 

“We will leave and officially forgive your crimes in our records,” Phillip started. “With the following conditions: You will keep your angel contained, and you will reach out and consult the Men of Letters on matters of an apocalyptic nature. You will further be on call as needed if we are approached or threatened by any angels and will come to our aid immediately.”

 

“Ok.” Sam answered for them both, as it seemed they’d hit the end of Dean’s patience with two hours of irritating conversation. Somewhere in the middle Castiel had reached out to squeeze Dean’s hand as someone from the Men of Letters had brought up Purgatory, and they’d not let go of each other since. Even now he could feel the hunter slowly running his fingers along Castiel’s knuckles at a gentle pace, as if to calm them both.

 

“Now, get out of our house,” Mary stated plainly, no room for argument. And off they trundled, relatively quietly, up the stairs and thankfully out of their lives. Toni’s sister wrapped her arms around her and led her from the room, which was probably for the best as that bothersome woman still looked as if she had a list of complaints to read off to the Winchesters. Once they were gone they all heaved a collective sigh, sitting back in their chairs.

 

“You think we get 15 minutes before the next crisis?” Sam called out, letting his head fall back against the seat and closing his eyes.

 

“I’d just like enough time to eat and shower. And at least a six pack.” Dean picked at his still bloodied shirt and gave himself a sniff. Mary seemed to stir at his suggestion, picking herself up and wiping her hands on her equally soiled jeans.

 

“Alright boys - I’ll get started on food. Dean, you shower. Sam, you run to the storage room and find some pasta. Castiel, you double-check the wardings on the bunker - we don’t need any surprises. We’ll meet back here in twenty five minutes.” She finished doling out orders and the three men turned to her quizzically. Blinking, she put up her hands a little. “What?”

 

“Nothing we’re just - glad to have you back Mom.” Sam smiled, and Dean nodded as the three of them started off to their separate tasks. It was unexpectedly refreshing to have Mary intermixed with the three of them; she cared so fiercely for her boys that it put them at ease somehow. Like they enjoyed (just a little) being taken care of. And the way she’d tried to protect Castiel earlier made him feel so accepted. It was a rare moment of serenity and damnit, they’d take it.

 

Sam caught Castiel’s sleeve as he turned to walk towards the bunker door, raising his eyebrow. The other two Winchesters had already departed to their tasks, and they were left momentarily alone.

 

“Cas - what’s going on?” Sam spoke in hushed tones. “That was pretty intense out there.”

 

“Yeah.” Cas started, running a hand through his hair. “ It seems that your brother - well…”

 

“He loves you.” Sam finished, the edges of his lips turning up at the words, and he laughed a bit. “What else is new?”

 

“Well, apparently, that is new.” Cas explained, feeling unencumbered to discuss this with Sam. If anyone was going to understand what was happening, it would be him. “Love and faith are what charges angels and, well, a human has never been in love with an angel before. It seems his love for me is effectively making me more powerful.”

 

“Huh…” Sam furrowed a brow, and he could practically see the wheels in his head spinning. “Maybe what changed was that he realized he was in love with you. After Amara - something clicked. He did seem different…”

 

“There does seem to be something about open affection - but at this point it’s all speculation. Metatron said our father left him with a message for me: Don’t let Castiel run away from his source of power.” He stopped, finally having a moment to start to piece things together. “I have to believe this was his plan - he knew that Dean and I would fall in love, and this would be the result. And he doesn’t want me to run away from it.”

 

“I don’t think at this point Dean would give you the chance.” Sam replied with a good natured wink. “All the same, I think you two need to get out of here and talk. After dinner. Poof off to somewhere far away that has beer. Get this thing hashed out before he tries to sweep it under the table.”

 

“Of course.” Castiel had to admit the idea of getting Dean to a secluded spot sounded incredibly appealing. Sam as usual gave great advice when it came to Dean. So naturally, after dinner, and still lacking the social graces to actually ask permission, he reached a hand out to Dean’s shoulder and that’s exactly what he did. 

* * *

 

They landed in a bar just outside of Mazatlan, Mexico. Their first breaths were humid, the salty air leaving a taste of brine in the back of their throats. It was well into the evening but the full moon seemed as bright as the sun and illuminated the scene around them - an isolated beachside bar, clean, open and made of two or three large felled trees and a rickety straw roof. A few men sitting on barstools were talking to the single bartender, their voices murmured but friendly - they were otherwise alone.

 

Dean distanced himself from Castiel’s grip with a yelp, leaning over suddenly to expel the lovely pasta dinner Mary had put together. Only this time, Castiel was expecting his reaction, and he walked beside him, extending his grace through his fingertips as he laid a hand on the small of his back. The retching stopped abruptly, and Dean sighed with relief, standing and giving his sides a stretch.

 

“Warn a guy next time, Cas.” He spoke gruffly but he didn’t seem angry. He took a full look around with a cocked eyebrow. “Where the hell are we?”

 

“Mexico.” Cas frowned, wishing he’d thought ahead and checked the weather - though it was dark, it was balmy and nearing uncomfortable. But it was secluded as Sam suggested, and there was beer. “You said you wanted a drink.”

 

“I meant, you know, in a bar that we could drive to.” He scratched the back of his head with a grimace.

 

“Sam suggested that you might be more open to talk if we were away from - people.” Castiel chose his words carefully - despite the events of the last few days he still fell into old habits of walking on eggshells when it came to ‘feelings’ with him. He half expected Dean to throw up his hands and demand to be brought back to the bunker. Instead his jaw clenched with a swallow, and he shook his head.

 

“Sammy, huh? Shoulda known.” And he began walking towards the bar. They sat away from the others, next to each other and facing the lapping ocean that reflected the moon. It was quiet - so blissfully quiet. Cas hadn’t realized how the steady sounds of fourteen people had really grated on his nerves until it was absent.The sounds of the waves, the dull fizz of the carbonation of their beer, and their breaths, hot and steady made for a comfortable soundtrack. 

 

Castiel found that he didn’t want to talk now - the harried day (really, the last week) came to a screeching halt with the first sip, and it quite surprisingly felt like their troubles were a million miles away. Gone were the issues of navigating their new alliance, or acquiescing Mary through the last thirty years, or even the complication that was their unprecedented romance. Now it was just Cas and Dean, a few beers and the sand. As far as he was concerned, they could sit in silence in each others company until the sun came up and they were forced to deal with another day.

 

Next to him Dean picked lightly at the label on his Corona, taking another swig before starting. “So now what?”

 

Now it was Castiel’s turn to shrug, apparently. Half as an answer, and half as a presumed dismissal  - hoping Dean would mirror his desire for quiet.

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Dean chided, clearly in a different state of mind than Cas. “You drag my ass out here and now you clam up? I thought we were going to hash this out.”

 

“I don’t want - things to change.” Cas pieced the words together carefully, as if the right combination would eliminate the need for further conversation.

 

“Yeah, we’re way past ‘Change things’, Cas. I think we saw the sign for ‘Change things’ back in Wyoming and we blew right through it.” Dean took a few more sips of his beer and let them fall down his throat with a gulp.

 

“This certainly seems easier to discuss when one of us is dying,” Cas contributed and to his surprise Dean chucked, drawing his lips back so beautifully into a grin. 

 

“I could stab you, if that would help.” He joked and Cas finally turned to look him in the eye. He found a lightness there he hadn’t seen before, and something in him just broke a little - call it the stress of trying to keep Dean happy, appeased - but he was done. Actually far past done tiptoeing around and acting as if he addressed the elephant in the room, it was going to stampede and break everything that had been so fragily and delicately put together. 

 

“I don’t actually want to talk, Dean.” Castiel recognized that he unintentionally sounded threatening with the with the depth of his tone. But Dean didn’t react like he was being threatened - on the contrary, his pupils dilated slightly and he sucked in his bottom lip, biting it chastely. 

 

“That’s my line,” he whispered and they met in a clash of lips so sudden, so intense that Dean’s beer plummeted to the ground, landing on the concrete with a harsh crash. The noise startled them and they pulled apart. Dean’s eyes were wild, and Cas looked frantically at the three men, now turned to look at them incredulously. 

 

“Lo siento!” Cas called out.

 

Something about the scene - the wasted beer, the broken glass, the stares of the men, the way they were still clinging to each other, coupled with the reminder that Castiel spoke every language of man - it was hilarious. At least Dean thought so, as he let out with roarous laughter, pushing back from Cas and clutching his stomach. His eyes crinkled with the mirth and Cas couldn’t help but smile broadly if a bit shyly in response. 

 

Oh was it amazing to watch Dean really let go, the way his head tilted back, how he clung to himself like he thought he might fly away from the feeling. Cas found himself again wanting to bottle it, though as he focused on it more and more he could almost feel it - the tangible grasp of that joy, just dancing around his peripherals. He wanted to ingest it, swallow it, let it fill him up to the brim with that same joy. And the thought stirred other emotions in him - emotions that would need to be explored without onlookers.

 

“Come on.” He grabbed Dean's hand from his belly, throwing a few American dollars on the table and took off, with the hunter still recovering in tow, down the beach. It was easy enough to see between the moon and the lights from the bar, even as they got a respectable distance away.

 

“Midnight stroll on the beach?” Dean started, the last of his laughter dying but still smiling as their hands remained entangled. “Well, Castiel, you sure know how to romance a lady.”

 

“You’re not a lady,” he grumbled, though not without his own joviality. His shoes were now fully filled with sand and heavier with each step.

 

“Neither are you.”

 

That stopped Cas in his tracks - perhaps it was the tone that Dean used. It wasn’t anger per se, but it was distinctly direct, and he paused in his hike, finally turning to face him. His eyes were bold as he looked slightly up at the hunter, feeling for a moment that their positions in the sand were overexpressing the height difference between them.

 

“Does that bother you?” he asked off the cuff, like it wasn’t a question that was entirely critical to the direction of their lives. But the fact was, it was a question that had been burning in his mind for years. Ever since he’d consciously realized that he was in love with Dean and then drew the quick conclusion that nothing would ever come of it due to his vessel’s gender. Angels of course, are genderless and utterly indifferent - he was attracted to Dean’s soul, all other parts of him were simply vehicles to bring that soul happiness. Humans, he found however, tend to have a preference in this regard, and Dean’s had always been female. 

 

The hunter looked at him now with parted lips, eyes searching Castiel’s face as if it contained the answer and he needed to verify before responding. It felt like an eternity passed before he spoke and as he did, a fresh flood of loving feelings pushed forward towards Cas, nearly knocking him over. 

 

“No. I thought it would - all these years…” he stopped, taking his bottom lip into his mouth as if to keep himself from revealing too much. He then released it from the sharp prison of his incisors, taking a step forward and extending his free hand to cup Castiel’s jaw line, the warmth of his skin surpassing the humid heat of the night. “Can’t you just - know what I’m thinking? This would be easier.”

 

“It does not appear that is how this works.” Castiel whispered as Dean’s thumb swept carefully over his lower lip, and his heart skipped a beat. “You have to send me your thoughts. Consciously.” Dean nodded at his words, and seemed to settle his gaze pointedly, a laser sharp focus on Castiel’s eyes. 

 

_ I want you. _

 

Castiel made the move then, initiating a meeting of their lips so gentle it felt as if the hunter was just a ghost at first - just a vision of himself. He opened his eyes just a fraction, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Dean let go of his hand and moved it to join the other on his face, cupping it tenderly like the angel might break. Cas moved his arms low, wrapping them around the tight waist, splaying his hands across his back as if to touch as much of him as he could at once. 

 

They fell into a steady sort of dance - mouths and arms moving slowly, gingerly, as if to pay reverence to the other’s temple, the place where they housed their beloved soul. Dean was the first to change the tempo - just for a moment taking a small bite of Castiel’s broad upper lip, to follow shortly after with a suckle at it to repair the damage he’d done. Castiel’s hands found themselves at the bottom of Dean’s jeans, and snaking up to run across his impossibly heated back. Their breaths were heavy now, taken quickly between deep kisses like they were swimming in an ocean of the other person and had to come up occasionally for air.

 

Dean’s mouth moved, first to the side of Castiel's and then tracing the lines of his jaw. He paused to nose at his jugular and earlobe, and the small noises he made with his ministrations drawing a groan from Cas. Letting his hands trail down his back, the angel indulgently (and frankly, rather instinctively) grabbed a handful, and was deliciously rewarded with a strangled cry from Dean against his collarbone. 

 

_ We may need a bed soon - unless you’re into sand in your ass _ .

 

Castiel chuckled, and made an effort to physically reply but Dean was already back at his lips, drawing his bottom lip in and taking it hostage.

 

_ Bunker? _

 

_ Bunker _

 

And then they were in the dark of Dean’s room, having traveled still wrapped impossibly tight against one another. He extended his grace again only this time through his lips, almost unconsciously. Incredibly it worked, Dean humming into the feeling like he was tasting something sweet. 

 

Dean parted from him slowly, taking a few short steps to turn on the small bedside lamp that illuminated the room in a sort of dull yellow hue. The light seemed to change the tone of their movements as Dean walked back, his eyes open and hungry. Being in the bunker, and in his bedroom together, it was all of the sudden so strikingly real. It was thrilling and terrifying at once, and those thoughts were echoed in his partner that now stood in front of him, reaching out to pull the trench coat off of his shoulders.

 

“The light, I -” Dean paused, drawing a breath, as if the words physically pained him to say. “I want to see you. I don’t want this to be in the dark.”

 

Castiel didn’t think it was possible to feel more extraordinary than he had before, until he realized - he wasn’t alone in reveling in this moment. Dean’s small admission wasn’t really about the visuals of the room - he was, in his own way, making it clear that he wasn’t ashamed of them. A weight lifted from Castiel, and he could see a raw energy in the hunter - love, admiration, lust. It was intoxicating and he reached out, cupping his face, wanting to speak the words his heart was screaming and found mere english inadequate to express the heavenly joy that surrounded the two of them. And so he just wordlessly nodded, in a silent agreement of “I’m proud to love you.”

 

He let the hunter take his time unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt, placing soft, open mouthed kisses where fresh skin was revealed. Castiel’s hands found a soft home, carding through the short blond hair and scratching a bit at his nape. He gazed in wonder as the hunter worked, logging each moment away as if he could recall it exactly later.

 

They undressed each other very deliberately, paying reverence to each new glance of flesh. It wasn’t as if what was underneath their clothing would be a surprise - over the years they’d seen a great deal of each other. But they looked at each other in a fresh light, skin glistening with the sheen of sweat from Mexico. The freckles across Dean’s chest were a roadmap, and as Cas pushed him gently to the bed he made it his mission to spell his love, letter by letter, across those dots. 

 

They fell in a tangle of limbs. Each exploration, each touch was almost painfully unhurried. There was a destination in their caress, but it was far on the horizon. Between now and then lay the joy of exploring what made the other twitch a little, or moan under their breath. Castiel found himself in lost in the feel of Dean, as he matched their expanses of skin. The more delicate parts of the hunter were so deliciously supple, and couldn’t stop himself from tasting each one. He boldly reached lower, seizing Dean with a steady hand, and he gasped into Castiel’s mouth.

 

“Oh, God - Cas.” Dean choked out, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back against the mattress. One hand slid up Castiel’s back and took root in his hair, giving the strands a gratifying pull, enough to elicit a pained moan. But damn, that mixture of pleasure and pain - he’d never known anything like it. He set a steady pace, almost absentmindedly, letting his soft fingers trail across the slit every few strokes, each time enjoying the way it made Dean’s thighs clench. 

 

He could watch this all day - the way Dean fell apart underneath him. It was beautiful to observe him letting go - even more so than when he laughed uncontrollably. And the way he clung to Cas, like he trusted him to keep him grounded - it spurned a power in the angel to which he was unaccustomed. Part of it was their supernatural bond now, to be sure - Castiel was certain if something apparated into this room at this moment and tried to harm them that he could snap his fingers and blow it apart without a second glance. But the larger part of the power was the sense of trust from Dean, who so rarely showed any vulnerability, now was almost obscenely exposed to him, both body and soul.

 

“Close - Cas - do you…?” Dean struggled with words, blinking at him through lidded eyes. Castiel actually wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with that question, but he didn’t exactly care - he wasn’t done drawing him to the edge, not by a long shot.

 

He paused, letting his previously occupied hand smooth across the hunter’s taught stomach, and pushed himself up to take Dean’s perfect bottom lip into his mouth. He kissed him softly until he felt Dean’s racing pulse slow, and his hot breath even out just slightly. Then quite decidedly, he started kissing his way down his neck and across his chest, leaving tiny marks along his freckled skin like breadcrumbs in case he became lost and needed to find his way back home.

 

“Cas, you don’t need to- oh fuck.” Castiel couldn’t help the mischevious smile that crossed his lips as he took a long, slow lick up the solid length of Dean, picking up where his hand left off. The hunter let out a shaky breath, and moved a bit as if to halt the progression of the events unfolding.

 

“If you want me to stop because you’re uncomfortable, I will.” Castiel’s hot breath whispered across the delicate space, and Dean paused, leaning against his elbows. “But if you’re trying to stop me because you think I’m only doing this to please you, let me assure you that there is nothing I want more than to taste you at the back of my throat.”

 

Further proving his theory that he was entirely comfortably being this exposed to him, Dean made a distinctly un-macho whimper at his words. Cas didn’t wait for more consent than that, diving back into his task with relish. He swirled his tongue, sensing a salty taste and noticing how it sent a tight sensation to his own hardness, bouncing against his stomach as he moved. In fact his own arousal was throbbing, each sound from Dean making it more difficult to keep from rutting against his leg while he quickened his pace. 

 

The hunter’s hands were back to his hair now, clinging to the strands but he didn’t push, just moved with the pace of his head. He was close, so exquisitely close, and Castiel could feel it - the way his legs quivered, the shortness of his breath, the tightening of his balls in his delicate hand. Letting his free hand assist his mouth he drew him across the final line with a low, vibrating moan, and Dean cried out, arching his hips and effectively shooting himself to the destination Castiel had desired in the first place.

 

The angel released him with a not unpleasant slurp, swallowing as he followed his previously made trail to find those perfect lips again. He pressed himself against Dean to feel the hum of his body as he came down from his plateau, breathing hard and murmuring incoherently.

 

“That was - Goddamn - shit Cas I didn’t - fuck…” each word a new sentence as he tried to regain composure. Castiel now knew, in the depths of his soul, he’d never experience a more beautiful sight than Dean coming apart.

 

He nuzzled against the hunter, burying himself in his neck, tasting the sweet sheen of sweat. It was a few minutes before Dean managed to put a coherent sentence together, his voice low and hot.

 

“I think it’s time for a bit of quid pro quo, Clarice.” He smirked, snaking out of Castiel's grasp and pushing him back against the mattress softly. 

 

“You planning to eat me with fava beans, Dean?” Castiel joked, his voice catching at his name as Dean’s callused hand wrapped around the length of him, giving it a tantalizing stroke. And there was nothing in the world quite so hypnotic as the feel of Dean grasping him - it nearly brought him to his peak right then and there.

 

“No,” he started seductively, looking up at him through his long lashes “I’m gonna make you, uh, stab me like a kabob?” He grimaced, but his lips were still upturned. “I think I lost the metaphor. I wanna fuck, Cas, is what I’m saying.”

 

Despite how amazingly high he was feeling from the hunter’s ministrations, his guffaw at Dean's blunder surprised him with a laugh he could feel through his entire body. Dean smiled, too, laughing a bit at himself, stopping his hand and slowly lowering his head so his face rested against Castiel’s chest out of mild embarrassment. It was downright darling.

 

“You sure?” Cas asked as he came down from his laughter - what little he knew about homosexual sex, he knew that was a particularly big step especially for someone who hadn’t done it before.

 

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t move his head, but his words were soft as he kissed the skin above Castiel’s pounding heart. He stayed for a moment, and the angel wondered if he’d had a change of heart in those seconds, until he spoke again. “I didn’t want to with another man before you but, yeah.”

 

“Okay.” Castiel tried to sound sure as he answered, watching Dean move to the other end of the bed and pull something out of the drawer. The snap of a lid told him what it was, and he heard the wet noise of Dean coating his fingers. He moved to his side to take in the sight as Dean reached down and pushed into himself gently. The hunter's mouth went wide for a moment, and his green eyes disappeared with a roll backwards. 

 

Castiel was practically salivating, watching him as he fucked himself from behind, arching his back to reach. It pushed forward his chest, and Casl reached out and licked a stripe along his collarbone. The room has slowly built up a hot smell, like the combination of their bodies, and he breathed it in, trying to control the shaking in his hands.

 

“Shouldn’t that be my job?” Castiel found himself asking, more out of desperation to be touching him so intimately than from practical knowledge of sex.

 

Dean opened an eye, and peered at him, letting his mouth turn to a grin as he answered. “If you want…”

 

Want? Want was an understatement. If he didn’t feel Dean under his fingertips soon he was going to explode watching him. Castiel stopped himself from quite literally leaping at the opportunity, deciding instead to reach behind Dean on the dresser, liberally coating a few fingers with the still open bottle. Dean watched him intentively, and shifted so that he was on his back and bending his knees. He removed his own fingers then with a muted pop and settled back to watch as Castiel reached down between his legs.

 

They didn’t break eye contact, keeping their intense gaze as his long fingers delicately explored, winding their way around until they reached their destination. Dean’s eyes widened, and he nodded in encouragement as Cas pressed a single digit inside. Dean let out a low moan and he paused - not sure if he was hurting him. 

 

“Move, Cas.” his words were broken, and his eyebrows tightened as he wriggled down against the finger. “I need to stretch.”

 

The angel may not be incredibly street smart, but his general knowledge of the basics of sex started to draw some conclusions. He began thrusting slowly, first the single finger, then another, then another, adding them as he felt Dean’s muscles relax against him. Once more he was enraptured by the bareness of Dean’s exposure, and he watched him harden again as he worked the delicate massage. He couldn’t help leaning down to take his lips again, feeling them raw and bruised under his tongue

 

“Ok - I think I’m ready.” Dean huffed suddenly, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. Which was just as well, as Castiel was beginning to ache at his lack of release. The hunter sat up, coating his hand in liquid and then moved with excited haste to grip Castiel again, stroking to cover him generously. This slick feeling coupled with Dean’s strong hand was almost too much and Cas threw his head back with a low moan of his name. Dean paused, applying pressure at the base, stopping the flow and bringing him back to himself.

 

“I know.” Dean soothed, waiting a moment for Castiel to catch his breath. As he did, they locked eyes again, Dean reaching forward to kiss his bottom lip, then sat back against the pillows, spreading his legs again.

 

They stood on a cliff edge together, and Castiel moved to push them both over, knowing they’d save each other in the end. And they both cried out from the feeling of him filling Dean, pushing himself flush with Dean’s body. Castiel stopped himself from moving further, wanting to savor this moment, catalog everything, but it was short lived - Dean reached behind him and took a handful of his behind, wriggling against him impatiently.

 

“God, this feels better than I thought it would,” he clamored, raising his hips demandingly. “Move Cas - please…”

 

The angel let instinct take over, beginning to drive with newfound desire into Dean. It was all impossibly warm and tight, and God, this would not last nearly long enough. He seemed to hit a tiny spot so deep in Dean that would make the man cry out unhinged with the thrust. They were wild, grasping, pulling, pushing, biting, until finally he felt Dean clench around him and saw that he was coming undone yet again against their stomachs. 

 

“Love - you…” 

 

The words from Dean, choked out through his ecstasy, sent Castiel tumbling after him, feeling like his nerves were on fire as he released. The feeling pulsed through him and there was only Dean, only this singular love he felt for him, only the most important thing he’ll ever do in his life. He closed his eyes and fell against Dean’s chest, realizing too late that he’d teared up a bit as he struggled to take a ragged breath.

 

“Dean, I-”

 

“Shhh.” Dean hushed, stroking his hands up and down Castiel’s back as if to try to piece him back together, as he was before. But there was no going back - this incredible feeling, he knew, selfishly, that it would take a stronger man than he to ever give it up.

 

He wasn’t sure how long they laid there, in that aftermath, still joined. He vaguely registered at one point that he heard a soft snore from Dean and a small shift, and he fell gently out of him. It could have been hours, Castiel just resting on his chest, listening to the heart he so lovingly rebuilt beat in his chest. He’d shed a few tears as he lay there, he wasn’t ashamed to admit - the intensity of the situation hitting him solidly, coupled with the reminder that as beautiful and strong as love was, time and life were delicate and fleeting, and all of this could be ripped away much quicker than he'd worked to achieve it.

 

“I can practically hear you doomsday-ing your way out of this.” Dean’s voice was heavy with sleep, and Cas worried for a moment he’d been unconsciously projecting his thoughts. 

 

“I’ve never had something I’d been so afraid to lose,” he confessed shyly, as if there was anything left between the two of them that they should be embarrassed of.

 

Dean wrapped his arms tighter around him in response. “Me neither.” He paused with a sigh, then continued. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t grab onto the little happiness we get and cling on for dear life.”

 

Castiel nodded against his skin, warmly reminded that through his crass, wisecracking attitude, this man he adored was wise beyond his years.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, realizing that he’d never actually said it outloud to him before. He could hear the hunter’s heart beat quicken against his cheek, and Dean sighed.

 

“I know.”

 

Castiel let himself breathe in the smell of Dean, planting a small kiss at the skin before -  _ wait a minute. _

 

“Did you just quote Star Wars to me?” 

 

Dean's laughter was low in his chest, and it shook Castiel’s head a bit before he sat up to look at him incredulously in the low light. The hunter’s smile was broad and gentle, his laugh lines crinkled with humor, his hair debatched and wild; he was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. 

 

“You knew I was a scoundrel getting into this.” Dean chuckled and reached back out, grabbing the angel and pulling him down to rest against his side. Castiel tried to pretend he was incensed as Dean rolled over and turned out the light.

 

“If that makes me Princess Leia in this metaphor, I’m going to start demanding that we call Sam Chewbacca.”

 

He heard him snort, and Dean pressed a kiss to his forehead. He could get used to this.

  
“Deal.”


End file.
